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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



OTHER WORKS BY HARRISON S. MORRIS. 

IN THE YULE-LOG GLOW. Christ- 
mas Tales from Round the Worid. Four 
volumes. i6mo. Half cloth, gilt top, 
^3 CO ; half calf or morocco, $7.50. 

Special Edition, with 16 French 
Photogravures in Tints. Cloth, gilt, 
^.00. 

WHERE MEADOWS MEET THE 
SEA. A Collection of Sea Songs and 
Pastoral Lays. With Illustrations by 
F. F. English. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 
gilt, ^3.50; half morocco, $4.00 ; three- 
quarters calf, $5.00. 

J. B. LippiNCOTT Company, 

Publishers, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 



;)'/vVA"^\0'\^ T?vA^CyA 



ROBERT BRO WNING 



TALES FROM TEN 
POETS. BY HAR- 
RISON S. ^MORRIS 



IN THREE BOOKS 
THE FIRST BOOK 



WITH PORTRAITS 




PHILADELPHIA ) kC? ^ /(, i 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
1893 



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Copyright, 1692, 

BY 

J, B. LiPPiNcoTT Company. 



JZ'2^fZ0 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 



A WORD TO THE READER. 



There is a deep-grained love in humanity for 
a story pure and simple. The fireside gossip 
who dishes up the sweet morsels of the past, 
has little art at his command. He can give 
nothing save the bare skeleton of a tradition, 
a tragedy, or a bit of drollery. His are the 
broadest and ruggedest of touches, and he has 
gained his end and pleased his audience if 
he has only sketched, in boldest outline, facts 
whose interest lies solely in themselves and 
their relative arrangement. 

Art, however, is quite another and a nobler 
thing. The simple facts which jut up from 
human intercourse like rough boulders, become, 
after a while, covered and softened with the 
foliage and minute mosses of art. The prosaic 
outlines pass away into something no less true, 
but lovelier and finer. The rock beneath gives 
endurance. The grass above brings appealing 
beauty, and this renders the endurance forever 
precious. 

In the pages to come, the reader who loves 

1* 6 



6 A Word to the Header. 

a story for its own sake may find, if he pleases, 
the enduring rock stripped of its verdurous 
robe, the story laid bare of its artistic medium 
and made to stand by itself He may see what 
durable foundations lie beneath the great 
achievements of poetic art which belong to 
our own century and our own tongue; and 
he will, moreover, — for the thing is assured to 
the man or woman of taste who enters even 
in so rudimentary a manner upon the perusal 
of these noble masterpieces, — he will perforce 
find himself led by their indestructible charm 
into an elevating desire to know the poems 
themselves. 

In needless apology for re-immortalizing the 
old story of Endymion, Keats wrote, " I hope I 
have not at too late a day touched the beautiful 
mythology of Greece and dulled its brightness." 
I, likewise, but in needed apology, hope that I 
have not dulled the brightness of these beauti- 
ful creations of the age of Victoria by render- 
ing them into unsympathetic prose. To one 
who cares for them and holds them dear as 
among the most lasting and subtile products of 
our contemporary life, it is an irreverent act to 
sever them from their natural settings. Yet 
Mr. Andrew Lang finds it in his heart to justify 
the act. " So determined are we not to read 
tales in verse," says he, " that prose renderings, 



A Word to the Header. 7 

even of the epics, nay, even of the Attic dramas, 
have come more or less into vogue." 

With this genial endorsement, then, and with 
the hope that these prose versions may lead 
every reader who is not already acquainted with 
them to a knowledge of the famous originals, I 
submit them to an age which has been called 
scientific because it too often disregards what is 
beautiful simply for being so. 

I have tried to adhere to the central idea, and 
even the detail, of each poem, as strictly as was 
consistent with the production of a well-rounded 
and complete tale in prose. Entertainment and 
diversion must be the chief aim in such a collec- 
tion as this, and where the more complex effects 
allowed to a poem have hindered the develop- 
ment of the prose story, I have, but with a 
reverent touch, endeavored to disengage the 
story and let it tell itself straight on to the 
climax. 

Much is lost by such a process to those who 
love poetry ; but to those who care for the rea- 
son without the rhyme there is — should the 
teller have done justice to the tale — infinite 
store of delight still left. 

H. S. M. 



CONTENTS OF BOOK I. 



PAGE 

The Eing and the Book 13 

Robert Browning. 

The Princess 83 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 

EosE Mary 145 

Bante Gabriel Roasetti. 

The Lovers op Gudrun 167 

William Morris. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



BOOK I. 

PAGE 

Egbert Browning . Frontispiece. 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti 145 

William Morris 167 



THE RING AND THE BOOK. 

ROBERT BROWNING. 



THE RING AND THE BOOK, 



I. 

The Comparini, man and wife, Pietro and Vio- 
lante, were yesterday as happy as any prosper- 
ous couple in Eome. To-day they lie dead in 
the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina. 

Crowds from the populous Corso have 
streamed into the aisles all day long to have 
a look at the murdered pair, where they rest 
on either side of the altar. There is an endless 
buzz of question and counter-question, of curi- 
osity and sympathy, and of hot vengeance 
uttered against Count G-uido Franceschini, who 
is known to have done the deed. 

It is a motley throng inside the old church. 
Here the scarlet robe of a cardinal moves down 
the midst of dark-cloaked idlers from the streets ; 
over there, in faded homespun, lounges some 
peasant come into town for the holiday. They 
push on to the chancel, throw up their eyes, 
cross themselves, look hastily at the dead and 
the notched triangular dagger lying at their 

13 



14 Tales from Ten Poets. 

feet, and then give place to the pressing lines 
behind. All the world knew the old pair, and 
all the world has come to talk the tragedy over. 
Once within, they find it hard to leave. They 
have climbed the columns, and perched them- 
selves on the chapel-rail, jumped over and 
broken the painted wood-work, crammed the 
organ-loft, and literally packed every corner of 
the sacred place. 

" Not in seventy years," says toothless Luca 
Cini, bending on his staff, — "not in all the 
seventy years I have seen bodies set forth has 
there been a day like it." 

Now this is the story of those two, lying there 
with faces stabbed out of recognition by an 
enemy who thus vindicated his honor, according 
to the wont of the noblemen of his day. 

It was the year of our Lord 1679, and Rome 
was the religious centre of the world. Pope 
Innocent the Twelfth sat upon the papal throne, 
a feeble old man who ruled benignly but firmly 
the great realm, both spiritual and temporal, 
which belonged to the church. In his service 
were numberless prelates high and low, and a * 
throng of nuns and monks and friars, who car- 
ried the ecclesiastical power into every rank 
of society. They were the judges in the city 
courts, the officers of the municipal govern- 



Tlie Ring and the Book. 15 

ment, the scholars who preserved and taught 
the older learning, and they led, moreover, the 
social world of Eome, whether it dwelt in the 
palaces of the Corso or lived a simpler life in 
the Yia Yittoria. 

And in the Yia Yittoria, plain, substantial, the 
abode of good citizens who had wealth enough 
to bring them leisure, even if too little to in- 
dulge in many luxuries, — in this pleasant thor- 
oughfare lived Pietro and Yiolante Comparini. 
They had been born in that quarter of the city 
seventy-odd years before, and remained there 
throughout their lives. They, like all the rest 
around them, married young, but they were 
childless, and this was a disappointment to 
Pietro and a distress to his good wife, for 
Pietro's wealth, such as it was, belonged to him 
only during his life, and would pass into the 
hands of some distant heir when he should die. 
Yet they had led a careless and happy existence 
in their city house and in the villa out in the 
Pauline district just beyond the walls. This 
rural place Pietro had bought to retire to for 
little frolics such as men in his condition loved 
to plan with congenial friends who had a tooth 
for good wine and loved free laughter. But with 
its dark sides hidden in foliage and thick trees 
overhanging its roof, the villa was after all just 
the place to put murder into an enemy's head. 



16 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Such idle living is, however, a costly thing 
even if one have an ample income to draw upon, 
and the funds of the Comparini were not by 
any means inexhaustible. As the years went 
by they began to feel the drain upon their re- 
sources, and before very long they actually found 
themselves in debt. So, like most people who 
have gained a distinction for liberality among 
neighbors and friends, they clung blindly to the 
reputation, and continued to load their board for 
flattering guests even while they held out their 
hands for the papal bounty, which in that day 
was dispensed to the needy who were too re- 
spectable to beg. 

But the sole way out of the dilemma was to 
secure an heir. Pietro's income was exhausted, 
that was plain enough. The original wealth 
whence it was drawn, however, remained in the 
custody of the law, and should the miracle ever 
occur that he and Yiolante might still have born 
to them an heir, then the coveted money would 
fall into their hands and all would be well. So 
Pietro prayed earnestly for an heir to his fallen 
house, but Yiolante, more practical though less 
nice in honor, went secretly to work to fulfil 
the pious yearning of her husband. 

There was a place in Eome down past San 
Lorenzo, beyond labyrinths of ancient dwell- 
ings, where, at the end of a certain black and 



The Ring and the Book. 17 

dingy court, stood a house which Yiolante one 
day sought and entered. She had left the Yia 
Yittoria book in hand as if to hear mass, as was 
her daily wont, in San Lorenzo church ; but book 
and pious face were assumed to deceive Pietro, 
who must not know of her secret errand into 
the dark places of the city. There was a light 
at the top of the house, and she mounted by the 
filthy steps, holding tight to the cord which did 
service for baluster, until she had reached the 
last landing. She groped towards the half-open 
door where the dim light fell through, and en- 
tered on her hidden quest. A half-clad woman 
started up at her footsteps. 

" What, you back already !" she cried. " Have 
mercy on me, poor sinner that I am !" But see- 
ing only a woman, her voice changed from terror 
to entreaty, and " What may your pleasure be ?" 
she civilly asked of the undaunted Yiolante. 

Now, Yiolante had long kept in mind the ob- 
ject of her present visit, and she had noticed 
this woman over her open-air washing at the 
cistern by Citorio, noticed and envied her 
shapely figure, and had tracked her home to 
her forlorn house-top, whither she had now 
come to tempt her by proposing an unlawful 
bargain. The talk was short between them, for 
the wretched washerwoman was only too will- 
ing to earn an addition to her scanty wages, 
1 h 2* 



18 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and Violante was disinclined to linger long in 
such compromising intercourse. They parted 
at the stairway, and as Yiolante descended into 
the darkness below the woman repeated, in a 
loud whisper above her on the landing, the 
terms of the agreement, — 

" Six months hence, then, a person whom you 
trust is to come and fetch the babe away, no 
matter what its sex. The price is to be kept 
secret, and the child to be yours." 

Violante was triumphant. Here was the 
whole trouble solved by a single deft stroke of 
diplomacy. To be sure, it was an unworthy sub- 
terfuge and weighed a trifle on her conscience, 
but the heirs to Pietro's wealth must look out 
for themselves, and as for the stain of such a 
compact as she had just made, that must be 
atoned for by redoubled fervor in devotion ; 
and, so thinking, she hurried off to church, gain- 
ing her place just in time for the Magnificat, 
which she uttered with unusual energy. 

When she arrived at home Yiolante revealed 
to Pietro a startling and joyous piece of news. 
Her constant orisons, she said, and charitable 
work had brought her a fulfilment of her great 
longing. She must keep in-doors for the next 
half-year, and then, maybe, — and she coupled 
the news with an elderly caress, — maybe they 
might at last be blessed with an heir to restore 



The Ring and the Book. 19 

their fortunes and brighten their fast-approach- 
ing age. 

So one day Pietro found himself the father 
of a little black-eyed girl, and with the conscious 
pride of mature paternity, as well as the inward 
satisfaction that now his financial troubles were 
likely to be mended, at least for a time, he and 
his wife bore the infant to San Lorenzo churchy 
where the Curate Ottoboni christened it, with 
the prodigality of names then in vogue, Fran- 
cesca Yittoria Pompilia Comparini. 

Yiolante played her part well, and no shadow 
of suspicion crossed the mind of her husband 
or of the gossips of the Yia Yittoria. Whether 
or not the dangerous secret preyed upon her 
mind, she bore herself as a mother should, and 
did with unfaltering assurance what was need- 
ful in the ceremony of baptism. Hers was a 
calculating mind, and she had carefully planned 
and now as carefully executed a hazardous 
scheme, which, she reflected, had for its end a 
justifying benefit both for her husband and her- 
self. Moreover, was it not a worthy act to rescue 
from squalid surroundings and degrading influ- 
ences a child that might prove a delight to 
their barren age and grow to useful and per- 
haps beautiful womanhood ? Such thoughts ran 
through her mind as she stood beside her hus- 
band at the font, and with them her common- 



20 Tales from Ten Poets. 

place nature postponed for a time the inevitable 
reassertion of conscience. 

But Pietro in all the luxury of his new father- 
hood was a vain and delighted man. He bore 
the little Pompilia home with a thousand ca- 
resses, and from that day forth he was her play- 
mate and her slave. He romped with her on 
the floor, taught her, as she grew, many a child- 
ish game, and year by year measured her in- 
creasing height against the walls of the shaded 
villa beyond the gates. 

Poverty, however, had always of late lurked 
at Pietro' s heels, and one day, with scarce a 
warning, he found himself in absolute need. 
He had squandered his inherited income, had 
idled away his opportunities to repair it, and 
now in his old age he was destitute and help- 
less. But Yiolante was a wife of many re- 
sources, and her busy mind went to work with 
all its old vigor to solve the new difiiculty. They 
still had one possession which might retrieve 
their fortunes. Pompilia was now a grown girl, 
with great dark eyes and a bounty of black 
hair. She had, moreover, the sweet touch of that 
first youth which is a potent charm to most 
men, but which appeals with a peculiar zest to 
the jaded taste of a man of the world. She 
was over-young, to be sure, for marriage, but in 
the Italy of that day a young girl stepped out 



The Ring and the Book. 21 

of childhood directly into wedlock, and imma- 
turity of mind and of character was overlooked 
by wooers who sought only beauty or wealth. 

It was the crafty Violante's plan, then, to 
carry her attractive goods to the most favorable 
market. She had grown attached to the child, 
because of its loving traits and infantile charm, 
and because it had so well served her purpose, 
but the family need weighed heavily on her 
now, and, like many another ambitious dame 
with only half her motives, she set deliberately 
to work to secure at one stroke for Pompilia a 
wealthy husband and for herself and Pietro a 
snug fireside protective against want, with even 
a little luxury thrown in if that were possible. 

Now, the desperate state of Pietro's affairs 
was unknown as yet to his neighbors, and he 
had managed thus far with the remnants of his 
credit to eke out a respectable appearance. No 
whisper of the inward anxiety was allowed to 
mar the customary outward thrift, and the old 
reputation for fortune and prosperity was un- 
touched by rumor. This being the case, Pom- 
pilia, with fresh young beauty and the repute 
of considerable wealth, was an eligible match 
likely to be snapped at by a suitor whose-own 
fortunes while not exhausted still needed re- 
plenishing, or by some elderly seeker after a 
youthful spouse. 



22 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Pompilia herself was just thirteen years old, 
and knew nothing of the trials which beset her 
parents. She had lived a careless and happy- 
life in the garden of the villa, and scarcely ever, 
save when she went to San Lorenzo church, saw 
the great world outside its walls. She had a 
sole friend in the early times, Tisbe, a neighbor's 
child, whom Yiolante brought in to play with 
her on rainy afternoons ; and the two would 
trace each other's fortunes in the woven stories 
of the household tapestry. 

"Tisbe, that's you, there, with a half-moon 
on your hair-knot and a spear in your hand, — a 
huntress. See, you are following the stag, and 
a great blue scarf blows out at your back." 

"And there you are, Pompilia, with green 
leaves growing from your finger-ends and all 
the rest of you turned into a sort of tree." 

Then they would laugh together and play out 
the tales pictured for them through the folds of 
the dim old hangings ; or they would often run 
off to the vineyard and sit in the shade of the 
vine-leaves for whole mornings together. 

Such childish happiness had wrought in little 
Pompilia a thoughtful and sympathetic nature, 
but she had grown up without mental training 
and unconscious of the simplest experiences of 
life. She could neither read nor write ; she had 
scarcely known one of the opposite sex save 



The Ring and the Book. 23 

the fatherly old Pietro, and she was entirely 
ignorant that such a thing as giving in mar- 
riage existed. 

But one day as Pietro was taking an after- 
dinner doze and Pompilia, in some far-away 
chamber, was busy at her broider-frame, there 
came a priest to the Via Vittoria: a smooth- 
mannered and sleek-faced personage in the 
habit of an Abate, who asked for Yiolante with 
a conscious air of knowing that she was within 
and alone. 

" Might he speak ?" 

" Yes," came promptly from in-doors, with a 
flutter of skirts, and he entered and seated him- 
self with the suave grace of one used to more 
elevated interviews. He begged leave to present 
himself as the Abate Paolo, the younger brother 
of a Tuscan house, whose actual representative 
was the Count Guido Franceschini ; and then, 
glossing his great flap hat with the palm of his 
hand or reaching down to smooth the wrinkles 
from his shapely stocking, but always keeping 
a keen gray eye fixed on the flattered dame, he 
descanted on the house of the Franceschini, 
how old they were, what ancestors they boasted 
of, and a score of other notable things fit to 
turn the head of a much wiser mother than 
the susceptible Yiolante. 

" But we are not rich," he said, with an ap- 



24 Tales from Ten Poets. 

parent burst of candor, — " that is, not so poor 
either. One can't have everything, you know. 
We are well enough off to support the reputa- 
tion of the house, and then we are in the way 
to fortune," — and he leaned forward with a con- 
fidential lowering of the voice, as if to speak 
into Violante's ravished ear, — " and to fortune 
better than the best. Well, my good madam, 
you see, if we could but keep Count Gruido 
patient for a little while, constant to his own 
interests and friendly with the Cardinal whom 
he serves, we should one day wear — it is prom- 
ised us — the red cloth that keeps a whole house- 
hold warm. But he is restless, dissatisfied, and, 
moreover, he's slipping on into years, and years 
make men want certainties, — not promises alone, 
not promises." And the Abate emphasizing the 
word, Yiolante also said, seriously, — 

" Quite right, quite right, your Reverence ; 
promises make poor living." 

"What I was about to say," continued the 
Abate. " Promises make poor living indeed ; and, 
in truth, my brother Guido is home-sick, — longs 
for the old sights and usual faces again ; he has, 
poor fellow, no ecclesiastical tastes ; he's a cold 
nature, humble but self-sustaining. Ah, poor 
brother Guido ! he cares little enough for the 
pomp of Eome. Dear me ! he'd rather live in 
his dingy palace, as vast almost as a quarry and 



The Bing and the Book, 25 

nearly as bare, or up at his villa on the hill-side 
by Yittiano." 

Yiolante interjected here a pleased " Indeed !" 
to signify her sense of the honor done her by 
such explicit revelations of family aifairs, and 
then the Abate went on : 

" Yes, he talks of nothing else ; it's the palace 
and the villa, the villa and the palace, all day 
long, — enough to make one's ears ache. And 
lately nothing will do but he must fly away 
from Rome post-haste to cheer his mother's old 
age by domesticating with her in the palace; 
and a new idea has struck him too. He must 
not go back alone ; he must carry a wife with 
him to enliven his mother's declining years and 
inspire her with hope and gayety, — so he says." 

Yiolante was hardly able to suppress her de- 
sire to oifer Pompilia then and there, and to 
sing her praises as a wife, but she had a glim- 
mering sense that a slight resistance would be 
seemly, and she merely betrayed the wish by a 
sharp little movement forward in her chair and 
a lifting of her hands from her lap. 

" La, now," she said, " and a very good thing 
for him to do." 

" True, true," continued the Abate, " a very 
rational thing to do," and he smiled gayly at 
the pleased old dame. " Ought now a man to 
interpose if his brother contemplates so wise 

B 3 



26 Tales from Ten Foets. 

a step ? There's no making Guido great ; that's 
out of the question. Why, then, not let him 
for once be happy ? But he must be protected 
from designing matrons who covet the distinc- 
tion of such an alliance without being able to 
give sufficient in return. Yes, Guido needs the 
watchful interest of his brothers," — the Abate 
here cast down his eyes in humble deprecation 
of his own merits : " he must not be allowed to 
make a mesalliance. That at least we must 
forestall." 

"Little danger," said the discreet Yiolante, 
"with so experienced a hand to guide him." 
The Abate made a profound bow and pro- 
ceeded : 

"No, signora, we are not anxious for name 
and fame ; we have sufficient of them already. 
But if some pure and charming woman, un- 
tainted by the world, and all tenderness and 
truth, could be found, — some girl, not too wealthy, 
to match with Guido's own moderate fortune, — 
but, of course, with a sufficient dowry, — if such 
a girl could be discovered, she would indeed be 
the ideal wife for Count Guido." 

Yiolante said nothing, but she showed by con- 
scious interest that she had taken the bait so 
craftily suggested by the Abate, and was ready 
when he had twitched the line to be hand- 
somely landed. 



The Ring and the Book. 27 

" And now," he began, with an assumption of 
ignorance and an insinuating voice, " is it not 
true that you, Signora Yiolante, keep hidden 
here in this very house a lily of a daughter 
such as we seek for Count Guido ? Ah, I have 
guessed your secret !" he laughed, with mock- 
threatening finger raised. " You conceal here 
under your sheltering mother-wing a wife 
worthy of Guido's house and heart." 

" By no means, your Reverence," said Yio- 
lante, with becoming humility ; " merely my 
little daughter Pompilia, unworthy, believe me, 
such an honor." 

"Ah," said the gallant Abate, "you cannot 
long hide such a beauty from the light. But I 
merely came to see. I have spoken frankly 
and openly. I could do no less." Here he 
patted his well-shaped calf again, and then, 
straightening up with a shrug, said. " If any 
harm's done — well, the matter's at least off my 
mind, and I humbly ask your pardon, signora, 
for the intrusion." 

He rose now with a clerical dignity abandoned 
during their conversation and grandly kissed 
the devout Yiolante's hand. Then he bowed 
low and left her. 

When he was quite gone, Yiolante rubbed her 
eyes awhile in sheer bedazzlement, and then ran 
off to waken Pietro and tell him the wonderful 



28 Tales from Ten Poets, 

news. Her more practical husband rubbed his 
eyes in turn, looked very knowing, and indeed 
not a little puzzled too, took up his cane and 
hat, and then sallied forth to the Square of 
Spain, towards the Boat-fountain, where his 
gossips were wont to lounge and exchange the 
news. He made some display of his latest 
honor, and expected to be congratulated on 
such good fortune, but he only got well laughed 
at for his pains. They told him with blunt 
jocosity just who his visitor was : the brother 
of Count Guido Franceschini, whose paternal 
acres were a stubble-field and brick-heap. There 
used to be a palace, but it was long ago 
burned down. To be sure, he was a count, 
but he hadn't a coin in his pouch, — nothing 
left to support a noble name but sloth, pride, 
and rapacity. Wanted to go home, did he? 
Well, let Pietro help him; he'd not get home 
without assistance. 

" As for this Abate Paolo," said an old gray- 
beard who sat on the fountain-step, " he's a 
shrewder mouse. He's done well here in Eome, — 
fattened on the church and made a comfortable 
nest. But Guido's had to shift for himself, and 
now his Cardinars cast him off, and his last 
shift's this of yours. He's snuffed your snug 
little annuity, and in return would make your 
girl a lady, forsooth ! There," and he looked 



The Ring and the Book. 29 

with a derisive smile up at Pietro, " don't brag 
to us. Do you suppose Count Guido 'd stoop to 
you and yours if lie had one coin to chink 
against another ? Bah !" 

So Pietro went home again disenchanted and 
rueful, yet glad that the matter had ended where 
it did and no harm done. 

The marriage being thus impossible, all else 
followed in due course : Paolo serenely heard 
his fate ; Count Guido bore the blow with resig- 
nation ; and poor disappointed Yiolante wiped 
away a tear or two, renouncing her golden 
dreams with bitter reluctance. But she praised 
through her tears Pietro' s prompt sagacity and 
affected to acquiesce in his wiser decree. 

Thus all went well for a day or so ; then Yio- 
lante, as she one night fondled Pompilia in her 
arms, whispered to her, — 

" And what if a gay cavalier should come to- 
morrow to see my little Pompilia ?" And she 
held the girl off and looked smilingly into her 
great dark eyes. " And if he does come, Pom- 
pilia must let him take her hand and kiss it ; 
and then some fine night we shall all go off to 
San Lorenzo church, and you and he will be 
married at the altar; and after that we will 
come home again and leave the cavalier, and — 
that's all. But, you naughty girl, you must say 
nothing about it, — not even to papa Pietro, — 

3* 



30 Tales from Ten Poets. 

now, do you hear? Girl-brides must not tell 
secrets. And won't it be a gay lark to steal away 
and never let him know ?" 

So on the morrow Count Guido came and 
paid his devoirs to his intended bride. He was 
in pitiable contrast with the young and beauti- 
ful girl he was to marry. Hook-nosed and yel- 
low, with a great bush of a beard, he looked like 
an ancient owl clad in the garb of a Roman 
nobleman. But Pompilia was ignorant of the 
commonest usages of life, and wedlock for her, 
even with such a groom, had none of the ter- 
rors which it would have had for a more mature 
and experienced woman. 

The next night, through a driving December 
storm, the girl and her mother, well cloaked 
and veiled, set out for San Lorenzo, and there 
met the Abate Paolo at the altar-side. Two 
tapers shivered in the damp chill of the church, 
and Pompilia, standing in mute expectancy, 
heard the outer doors locked behind her, as if 
barring out help and hope. 

" Quick, lose no time !" cried the priest, and 
straightway down from behind the altar, where 
he was in hiding, stepped Count Guido, who 
caught Pompilia' 8 hand. The Abate then went 
hurriedly through the service, and at last pro- 
nounced them man and wife. Then the two 
brothers drew aside and talked together, while 



The Ring and the Book. 31 

Pompilia, trembling and dismayed, crept down 
and joined her mother, who was weeping. They 
were noticed no further, and stole on tiptoe to 
the door, which was now unlocked. It had 
stopped raining, and they hastened through the 
dark wet streets for home. At the house-door 
Violante turned, and, placing a finger across 
Pompilia' s lips, whispered, — 

"Not a word to papa Pietro. Girl-brides 
never breathe a word. You hear ?" 

Cheerily Pietro welcomed them home with 
not a little banter. 

" What do these priests mean," he said, " by 
praying folks to death in such weather as this ? 
Christmas at hand, too, to wash off our sins 
without need of rain." 

Yiolante gave Pompilia's hand a timely 
squeeze, and the young bride kissed the old 
man and said not a word. 

II. 

Three weeks of Pompilia's Hfe had unevent- 
fully passed, when one morning as she sat sing- 
ing alone in her chamber at her embroidery- 
frame two or three loud voices, with now and 
then a sob and the names " Guido," " Paolo," 
angrily spoken, broke the silence and startled 
her to her feet. She ran into the room where 
the voices came from, to see what was the mat- 



32 Tales from Ten Poets, 

ter, and there stood the Count and his brother 
the Abate with his sly face nowise dismayed, 
while Pietro seemed all red and angry, scarce 
able to stutter out his wrath. Yiolante stood 
by sobbing as he reproached her, — 

" You have murdered us, — me and yourself 
and the poor child!" 

" Murdered or not, Signor Pietro Comparini," 
Guido interposed, " your child is now my wife. 
I claim her, and have come to take her." 

But Paolo, with more dexterity, put suavely 
in : " Consider, Signor Pietro — or — kinsman, if 
I may call you so, what is the good of all your 
sagacity except to give you wisdom in such a 
strait as this ? The two are irrevocably man 
and wife ; that I guarantee, whether it please 
you or not. Now, we look to you for counsel, 
not violence, since the thing cannot be undone. 
Tell us what to do and we will gladly follow 
your advice," and Paolo smiled craftily, sensible 
that the game was wholly in his own hands ; 
the while Yiolante, sobbing all the faster, mur- 
mured, "Yes, all, all murdered. Oh, my sin, 
my secret !" and other such contrite fragments, 
consolatory to no one in particular. 

Then Pompilia began to surmise the truth. 
Something false and underhand had happened, 
for which Yiolante was to blame and she to be 
pitied, for they all spoke of her, though none 



The Ring and the Book. 33 

addressed her. She stood there mute until 
Pietro embraced her and said, — 

"Withdraw, my child!" then turning to the 
rest, " She is not likely at this stage to be help- 
ful to the sacrifice. Do you want the victim by 
while you estimate its value ? For her sake I 
consent, then, to hear you talk ; but she must 
retire. Go, child, and pray God to help the 
innocent !" 

Pompilia went away then and knelt to pray ; 
but soon Yiolante came in to her with swol- 
len eyes and hushful movements of the mouth, 
to make believe matters were coming right 
again. 

" You are too young," she sobbed, " and can- 
not understand yet. Your father did not under- 
stand at first. I wanted to benefit us all three, 
and when he failed to see my meaning, why, I 
tried to do it without his aid; but now he 
confesses he was wrong, and the trouble's half 
over. To be sure it was right to give you a 
husband with a noble name and a palace and 
no end of other pleasant things ! What do 
you care about youth and good looks ? — this is 
the kind of a man to keep the house and love 
his wife. We lose a daughter, to be sure, but 
we gain a son, that's all, and now Pietro begins 
to be reasonable." 

Pompilia strove to pacify her agitated mother 
I.— c 



34 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and made cheerful assent to all she asked, then 
Yiolante went on : 

" It's to be arranged, my dear child, so that 
we shall never separate. Papa Pietro and I 
are to go to Arezzo to live with you and the 
Count, in a fine palace where you will be the 
queen; and you'll forgive your unhappy old 
mother, now, won't you, — there's a sweet ?" 

" Forgive her ! what for ?" exclaimed Pompilia. 
" Everything is right, mother, if only you will 
stop crying. There, there, you have done no 
harm, and it was all for the best after all !" 

Then Yiolante kissed her fervently and took 
her back to where her father leaned opposite 
Count Guido, who stood eying him as a butcher 
might eye a cast ox that accepts its fate and 
ceases to struggle. Paolo looked archly on, 
touching his brow with the pen-point now and 
then to subdue a look of triumph, and when 
Pompilia came up to them he said impressively 
with a dignified gesture towards her and the 
Count, — 

"Count Guido, take your lawful wife until 
death do part you." 

While Yiolante was absent with Pompilia 
the terms of the marriage contract had been 
agreed upon. Pietro was induced, partly by 
coercion, partly by persuasion, but more than 
all else by the inward consciousness of his own 



The Ring and the Book. 35 

ruined condition, to assign to his son-in-law, 
Count Guido, all his possessions of every kind 
whatever, in return for which the Count 
promised to support Pietro and his wife during 
the rest of their lives in his palace at Arezzo. 
The Eoman household was to strike fresh roots 
into Tuscan soil. Pompilia was to pay her por- 
tion of the charge with her dowry, and the rest 
was to come out of the empty purse of Pietro. 

There was a chuckle of satisfaction in Pietro's 
throat upon making terms so helpful to his 
broken fortunes at so opportune a moment, and 
the inward gratification he derived from this 
went far to heal the wound made by the dis- 
obedience of his wife and the risk it involved 
to his daughter's happiness. On their part, 
Paolo and Guido were equally gleeful over so 
favorable a settlement. Paolo's eyes twinkled 
with insuppressible exultation at having so far 
achieved his dearest hope of inveigling old Com- 
parini into an agreement which should restore 
the noble house of Franceschini. They had, in 
short, each outwitted the other, and laid up an 
endless store of rancor for the bitter future that 
was approaching. 

Thus, with only the twilight of their lives still 
to spend, Pietro and his spouse went to Arezzo, 
eager to enjoy the lord- and ladyship gained by 
their doubtful bargain. Guido, on his part, 



36 Tales from Ten Poets. 

longed for the tranquillity purchased by his new 
venture, and looked with relief towards a future 
free from display and ambitions. But the Com- 
parini were anxious to begin where he had left 
off. This was not a promising state in which to 
enter upon such an arrangement as theirs ; and 
a woful want of harmony was apparent even 
during the first week of their common residence 
at the so-called palace. 

" This," cried Pietro and Yiolante in a breath, 
— " this the Count, the palace, the privilege and 
luxury that were promised us ! For this have 
we exchanged our liberty, our competence, and 
our darling child ! Why, this is a sepulchre, a 
mere stone-heap, a disgrace to the very street 
it stands in, and that the vilest street in the 
whole town as it is." 

They harped in turn upon their wrongs. Now 
it was Yiolante who mourned the loss of her 
accustomed diet and inveighed against the mea- 
greness of Guido's fare ; then Pietro, with a plaint 
for the Yia Yittoria and the pleasant villa in 
the Pauline. 

" Where is the neighborliness and feasts and 
holidays," ruefully asked Yiolante, — " ay, even 
the cheerful sun that used to shine for us 
in Eome ? Where are they ? We are robbed 
and starved and frozen. We will have justice. 
We will go to the courts." And because Count 



I 



The Bing and the Book. 37 

Guide's mother, old Lady Beatrice, made an 
effort to placate the enraged dame, but was slow- 
to abdicate her post of mistress, she was called 
a score of hard names, devil and dragon and 
what not, too severe for frail humanity to bear ; 
but the elderly noblewoman stood upon her 
ancestral dignity and only infuriated her op- 
ponent the more with her provoking contempt. 

All this Count Guido suffered with assumed 
forbearance, for he did not relish a rupture with 
the Comparini before he should be blessed with 
an heir as an additional pledge of his title to 
Pietro's fortune. But after four months' expe- 
rience of such a life, with Pietro trumpeting his 
wrongs at church and in the market-place, and 
Violante pouring hers into any pair of ears 
that would listen, — after the exhaustion of all 
his calculating and wary patience the Count 
was glad at last to get rid of them, even at the 
risk of endangering his nicely-plotted scheme. 

So, their worst done, saving the final breach, 
the Comparini one day renounced their share 
of the bargain ; flung in Guido's face the debt 
due them for maintenance never rendered ; left 
their heart's darling, as they said, at the mercy 
of her husband's cruelty ; bade Arezzo to rot, 
and cursed it one and all; then travelled on 
vociferating and enraged to Eome. 

I^ow, it was Jubilee week in Eome when Pietro 

4 



38 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and Yiolante arrived there. The good old Pope 
Innocent the Twelfth had ordained a celebration 
of his eightieth birthday, and the city was given 
over to festivities. He had also benignly de- 
creed a pardon for minor offences of conscience, 
and a leniency towards baser crimes, provided 
the offender confessed and was shriven of his 
guilt during the week of Jubilee. This set the 
injm'ed Yiolante to brooding over her long-hid- 
den sin against Pietro. She had never quite 
been able to clear her conscience of the stain 
of having entered into the unrighteous bargain 
for the purchase of Pomp ilia. No evil had, she 
tried to believe, ever arisen from it. Pietro 
was still alive, and the distant relatives who 
would have inherited his money were in no 
wise defrauded of their due. On the other hand, 
the child had been reclaimed, and much good 
had thus actually been accomplished. Never- 
theless the sense of guilt clung to her through 
the years, though she had tried to throw it off 
by making Pompilia happy, by marrying her 
into a noble family, and by sacrificing all she 
possessed for the girl's sake. Now, however, 
that she found herself in Rome with such bitter 
experiences rankling in her mind and a deep 
hatred of Gruido inciting her to any extreme 
for the sake of revenge, now that she might so 
easily gain the good Pope's absolution, and at 



The Ring and the Booh 39 

the same time deal a deadly blow at Count 
Guido, by imperilling his wife's dowry, she be- 
gan to think more constantly of her sin and 
more seriously and deeply to repent of it. 

So she muffled and veiled herself and went 
one day to church, where she entered with the 
straggling throngs and made her way to the 
confessional. There she knelt down, with beat- 
ins: heart, and in a hushed and broken voice re- 
vealed to the listening ear all the odious details 
of her plot: how she had bought Pompiha, 
palmed her oif on the unsuspecting Pietro, and 
then married her to Count Guido. The reply 
came like a note from the trump of fate. Be- 
fore she could be absolved of guilt she must 
make restitution. 

"Do your part," said the measured voice. 
"Tell your husband's defrauded heirs. Tell 
your husband himself, who has been entrapped 
into paternal love for a child not his own. Tell 
Count Guido, your son-in-law, — tell him, and 
bear his just anger. Then, when you have duly 
done penance, come hither, and you may be par- 
doned ; not before." 

When Yiolante arose from her knees her mind 
was firmly made up. She went directly home 
and made a contrite avowal of her wrong-doing 
to Pietro, who listened in astonishment, yet 
with no visible emotion, to her startling revela- 



40 Tales from Ten Poets. 

tion. He was stunned by the news, but there 
was a mitigating note which sounded through it 
all and made it bearable. He loved Pompilia 
truly, and to have been told this about her six 
months ago would have wounded him like cold 
steel, but now all was different. If Pompilia 
were not their child, then the disastrous bargain 
with Count Guido was cancelled and the rem- 
nant of his means was still his own. Perhaps, 
too, he thought, with the leap at a hoped-for 
conclusion common to us all when the clouds of 
misfortune seem about to break, perhaps when 
the Count hears that he has married a base-born 
waif he will cast her off, and we shall then have 
our dear Pompilia back again as well as her 
dowry. 

There was only one way in which Pietro 
might bring this new turn of affairs to Guido's 
notice, and that lay through the civil courts. 
The Comparini were now actually destitute, 
and had been obliged, since their return to 
Rome, to live upon the indulgence of old friends 
who were little enough inclined thus to pay 
for past hospitalities. Hence on the morrow 
Pietro began an action to recover his pledge 
from Count Guido, and Yiolante blushingly ap- 
peared and made public declaration of her fault. 
She renounced her motherhood, and prayed the 
law of Eome to interpose and redress the injury 



The Ring and the Book. 41 

which had resulted from her misdeed to her and 
hers. 

Guido, on his part, made answer that the 
story was one long falsehood invented to rob 
him of his own and gain a shameless revenge 
for fancied wrongs. And thus, with crimina- 
tion and recrimination, bitter reproach and fierce 
reply, they fought out the cause before the ec- 
clesiastical judges who tried, in those times, all 
the cases within the jurisdiction of the Church. 

At last the trial was finished and the court 
gave its verdict. The wise judges inclined to 
the moderate middle course. They held the 
child to be a waif; but, lest Guido should suf- 
fer by such a decision, they adjudged him the 
dowry even while they acknowledged it not to 
belong to her. It was to be looked upon as a 
partial repayment for the injury done him, not 
his by right of marriage. As for Pietro's con- 
tract of renunciation of his own estate, that 
was to be annulled, for he, at least, was no 
party to the misdoing. 

Such a decree was satisfactory neither to 
Guido nor to Pietro, and each pleaded immedi- 
ately for a reinvestigation of the case. This 
proceeding necessarily caused delay, and the 
matter therefore rested for the time in an un- 
settled condition. 

Hence the bitterness on all sides was deepened, 

4* 



42 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and Guido, whose sinister disposition had been 
intensified by disappointment and ridicule, began 
to vent upon his wife the rage he could not visit 
upon her parents. He was left alone in the 
grim ruin of a palace with his brooding hatred 
of Pietro and Violante, and the only subject 
with which to satisfy his longing for revenge 
was his innocent wife. Suppose he should cast 
her off, turn her out of doors ? But the dowry 
was in the way. He must not part from her 
or repudiate her, or his right to the one thing 
for which he married her would come into 
question. No, he must not be foolish. But she 
could be made to suffer. There was nothing to 
hinder that. And suffer she should, if his pe*nt- 
up malice could torture her or bring her into 
shame. Oh, how he hated her ! Every accent 
of her childlike voice, every movement of her 
tender lips, made him think of the deep insult, 
the cruel wrong to his noble house inflicted by 
her plebeian kin. 

He laid his plans with cool deliberation. If 
Pompilia could be induced in some way to fly 
from his house and follow her parents to Eonie, 
if she should break forth in open revolt and 
voluntarily leave him, then there would be no 
question of his ownership in the dowry. He 
would be rid of her and confirmed in his posses- 
sion of her money at one fortunate stroke. His 



The Blng and the Book. 43 

would be the universal sympathy, hers the gen- 
eral reproach, and thus he might enjoy the dear 
boon of revenge upon the whole three at once. 
Everjrthing was to gain by this method, and he 
went craftily to work upon it. 

To Pompilia, the news that she was not the 
daughter of Pietro and Yiolante had come with 
little effect. Her love for them was undimin- 
ished, and she felt sure of their love for her. 
It was simply one of the phases of the endless 
wrangle with her husband, and she could not 
understand it any better than she understood 
all the rest of the puzzling and distressing quar- 
rel. But one day as she sat alone, musing, per- 
haps, upon the old childish pleasures of her 
home, and longing to be with her parents again, 
Guido came in to her with a conciliatory look 
and bent over her, reaching a paper for her to 
see, on which were pencilled some faint lines of 
writing. " Look," he said, pointing to the text 
with a long finger, " I have written you a letter 
here to my brother the Abate. He will want 
to know how we get on together, the household 
news, and this and that. Mere compliment and 
courtesy. You cannot write, you say ? But it 
would please Paolo to hear from you, and you 
can easily re-trace those pencil lines in ink. 
Siffn it so," and he pointed to her name at the 
end, " and let me send it when you have finished. 



44 Tales from Ten Poets. 

It will be a kindly thing, a sisterly act, in truth, 
and Paolo will be pleased." 

He watched her and guided her pen some- 
times as she wi'ote, and when she had reached 
the end he took the letter from her and went 
to his own apartment, chuckling to himself as 
he read what she had been made to say. She 
was rejoiced, so the letter ran, that her vile 
kinsfolk at last were gone. She revealed, piece 
by piece, all the depths of their malice, and how 
they even laid an injunction on her before they 
left that she should allure some young gallant 
to her side, and plot with him to rob her hus- 
band, then burn the house down, taking care 
previously to poison all the inmates overnight, 
and, thus accompanied, fly to Eome and there 
join fortunes with them once more. 

With such a letter in hand the Abate did much 
in Eome to prejudice his powerful friends against 
the Comparini and to improve his brother's 
prospect of a speedy solution of the case in his 
favor. He insinuated, too, to his confidants that 
perhaps there lay in the letter the germ of a dark 
plan some day to be put to use. " Who knows," 
he would whisper, " what such a woman may be 
capable of? You see how she slips from side 
to side, one day for Guido, one day for her 
parents. Pray God she tries no such odious plot 
as she hints of here upon poor brother Guido !" 



The Ring and the Book. 45 

III. 

There was in Arezzo at the time when Pom- 
pilia became the bride of Count Guido a canon 
of the Church named Giuseppe Caponsacchi. 
He was a tall and courtly priest, with a thought- 
ful brow, and deep, earnest, brooding eyes. His 
family was the oldest and noblest of the city, 
and he was thus free to move among the most 
eminent of his fellow-townsmen, their equal 
in birth, wealth, and social graces, and their 
superior in learning and loftiness of character. 
Like most of the prelates of his day, his de- 
votion to the Church did not prevent him 
from courteous gallantries among the ladies of 
Arezzo, for the Church drew around her all that 
was fair and gay, encouraged her devotees to 
gather the sweets of life as well as the eternal 
harvest of religion. 

One night, then, at the theatre, as the Canon 
Caponsacchi and a brother priest, the Canon 
Conti, cousin to Count Guido, disported them- 
selves in a merry mood proper to the place and 
the play, they saw enter, stand an instant as if 
insensibly waiting a command, and then finally 
seat herself, a lady who was young, tall, and 
beautiful. A strangeness and a demure sadness, 
too, hovered about her girlish face, and it im- 
pressed Caponsacchi, he said, as when he got up 



46 Tales from Ten Poets. 

once after a matin-song and saw the workmen 
break away a board or two from a rude box 
lifted upon the altar. He looked again, and — 
there, inside, was a Eaphael ! 

He was staring steadily at her in his admira- 
tion of her beauty and melancholy charm, when 
the laughing Conti cried, — 

"Look now; I'll make her return your 
gaze." 

He tossed a twisted paper of comfits into 
her lap, then dodged behind Caponsacchi's 
back, nodding and blinking the while over his 
shoulder. At this she turned, looked their way 
an instant, and smiled sadly at the hardihood 
of the priestly gallants. 

" Isn't she fair?" said Conti. " She's my new 
cousin, the Lady Pompilia. The fellow lurking 
there in the back of the box is Count Guido, 
the old scapegrace ! She's his wife. Married 
three years ago. How he sulks !" And he went 
on to tell all the gossip about the marriage, 
and Guido's poverty and Pompilia's prospective 
wealth. " Oh, to-morrow I shall suffer !" he 
continued. " I was a fool to fling the sweetmeats. 
To-morrow I'll invent some fib and see if I can't 
find means to take you there." 

That night and the next day Caponsacehi 
could think of nothing else but Pompilia and 
her beautiful sad face. At vespers Conti leaned 



The Ring and the Book. 47 

beside his seat in the choir, and part whispered, 
part sung to him, — 

" I've louted low, but to no purpose. He saw 
you staring, — don't incline to know you any 
nearer. He'd lick your shoe, though, if you 
and certain others managed him warily (here a 
chanted verse), — but spare the wife ! He beats 
her as it is. She's breaking her heart quite fast 
enough. Ah, you rogue, — there are plenty of 
others (another verse) — little Light-skirts yon- 
der, — every one knows what great dame she 
makes jealous. Spare the wife, though!" And 
then the light-hearted Conti went on with his 
pious chant. 

The next week Caponsacchi was upbraided 
by his patron the Archbishop. " Young man," 
said the worldly-wise old prelate, " can it be true 
that after all your promises to be attentive to 
the ladies, you go and play truant all day long in 
church ? Are you turning Molinist, forsooth ?" 

" Sir, what if I turned Christian ?" Caponsac- 
chi answered quickly. " The fact is, I am some- 
what troubled in my mind. Arezzo is too 
limited a world. It is said that a priest who 
wants to think should go to Eome : so I'm going 
to Eome. I mean to live alone and look into 
my heart a little." 

" When Lent was ended," he told his friends, 
" he would go to Eome." 



48 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Eut mucli was to happen before Caponsacchi 
could go to Eome. 

His heart was touched into something very like 
love for the fair woman who had won his sym- 
pathy. He did not know, no one ever knows 
when once he becomes the thrall of a genuine 
passion, how little he is his own master. He 
tried to cast off the alluring fancy by a renewed 
application to his books ; but he knew not that 
the strongest symptom of the hold Pomp ilia's 
beauty and distress had taken upon him was 
this very disinclination to mingle with the 
women he had until lately seen almost daily. 
To read and study and ponder his religious 
duty were in reality but the readiest means of 
keeping before his solitary mind the image of 
the ill-wedded girl. 

Not long after this he was sitting in a deep 
revery at twilight, with an unread book open 
on his knees, thinking how his life was shaken 
under him, — how great a gap lies between 
what is and what should be ; perhaps, too, 
how far off he, a priest and celibate, was from 
the sad, strange wife of Guido, — he with a 
whole store of strengths eating into his heart, 
while she, maybe, was in need of a finger's 
help, and yet there was no way in the wide 
world to stretch forth a finger to help her. 
Her smile, too, when he would resolutely begin 



The Ring and the Book. 49 

again to scan the page, glowed through the 
printed lines and set him reverizing anew. In 
truth, Capon sacchi was a man of deep emotions 
though outwardly cold, and when once a feeling 
took possession of him it became his master 
and swayed his entire being. 

A gentle tap came upon the chamber door, 
and he bade the visitor to enter. There glided 
in a masked and muffled woman, who laid a let- 
ter lightly on the opened book, then stood with 
folded arms and an impatient movement of the 
foot waiting for his reply. 

The letter ran that she to whom he had lately 
thrown the comfits had a warm heart to give 
in exchange — and gave it, — loved him, and thus 
confessed it. It bade him render thanks for the 
gift by going that night to the side of her house 
where a small terrace overhung a blind and 
deserted street, — not the street in front. Her 
husband was away at his villa of Yittiano. 

" And you," he asked, " what may you be ?" 

« Count Guide's maid," she said ; " most of us 
have more than one function in his house. We 
all hate him, and the lady suffers so much. We 
pity her, and would help her at any risk, — espe- 
cially since her choice is so wise a one." Here she 
bowed meaningly to the Canon. " What answer, 
sir, may I carry to the sweet Pomp ilia ?" 

Then he took pen and wrote, — 
I.— c d 5 



50 Tales from Ten Poets. 

" No more of this ! That you are indeed fair 
I know, but other thoughts occupy my mind at 
present. Once it would have been otherwise. 
What made you, if I may ask, marry your 
hideous husband ? 'Twas a fault, and now you 
taste the bitter fruit of it. Farewell." 

" There !" he cried, exultingly, as she snatched 
the note and went out, " the jealous miscreant 
is crushed by his own engine. His mean soul 
shows through the whole transparent trick!" 
And he thought how, a month ago, he might 
have been the willing dupe of the knave, per- 
haps have gone off to keep the appointment with 
a cudgel hidden under his cloak. Now, he was 
not in the mood. 

But next morning brought the messenger 
again, with a second letter. 

"You are cruel, my Thyrsis," it said, "and 
Myrtilla moans neglected, but still adores you. 
Why do you not come ? You must love some 
one else. I hear you do. I blush to say it, but 
take me too ! There's a reason . I hear you mean 
to go to Eome. I am wretched here ; the monster 
tortures me. Come carry me with you. Come ! 
Say you will. Do not write. I am always at my 
chamber window over the terrace. Come!" 

He looked keenly at the veiled messenger, 
and, slyly feigning, lifted an end of her mask, 
which let out a smile. 



The Bing and the Book. 51 

" So you gave my lines to the merry lady ?" 
he said. 

" Yes, sir. She almost kissed oif the wax, and 
what paper was not quite kissed away she put 
caressingly into her bosom. Ah, she wept all 
night because you did not come " 

" Then wrote this second letter?" said Capon- 
sacchi. 

"Yes. She may expect you, then, at ves- 
pers ?" 

"What risk do we run of being discovered 
by Count Guido?" asked Caponsacchi. 

"Why, none at all," said the messenger, 
eagerly. " He's away. He spends the nights 
at this season up at his villa. Besides, his bug- 
bear is the Canon Conti, not you. He'd never 
suspect you." 

The Canon wrote : "In vain do you tempt 
me. I am a priest, you are a wedded wife. 
Whatever kind of brute your husband may be, 
I have my scruples. Yet, should you really 

show a sign at the window And yet again, 

no ! Best be good. My thoughts are elsewhere." 
"Take her that." He reached out the letter 
and the woman withdrew. 

For a whole month after this the missives 
followed thick and fast. Caponsacchi was now 
and again overtaken in the street by the veiled 
messenger, and even beckoned to in the very 



52 Tales from Ten Poets. 

church itself. Everywhere that a note could be 
lodged in his accustomed paths, there he was 
sure to find one. But he always answered in 
the same tone, always resisted and reproached 
the temptress. 

One day, however, there was a variation of 
the monotonous message. 

" You have gained very little by timidity. 
My husband has found out my love for you at 
length, and knows now that Cousin Conti was 
merely the stalking-horse for other game. My 
husband will stick at nothing to destroy you in 
Arezzo. Stand prepared to leave for Eome at 
once. I bade you visit me here, but now all is 
changed. The season is past at the villa, and he 
is at home. I beseech you stay away from the 
window ! He may be posted there at any time." 

Caponsacchi was piqued by such a warning to 
do the very thing it counselled him against. 
Solicited to go to the palace, he resisted with 
all the force of his sturdy moral nature. Ex- 
horted to keep away, that same sturdy nature 
asserted its independence, stood upon its rights, 
and urged him on. He wrote, — 

"You raise my courage, or, rather, provoke 
my curiosity, by your last note. Tell him he 
owns the palace, but not the street. That be- 
longs to us all. If I should happen upon that 
way to-night, Guido will have two troubles : 



The Ring and the Book. 53 

first to get into a rage, then to get out again. 
Be cautious. At the Ave !" 

At nightfall Caponsacchi went to the rendez- 
vous. He stood, at last, beneath the very win- 
dow. Then, in place of touching the conven- 
tional lute, he cried aloud, — 

" Out of your hole. Count Franceschini! Show 
yourself! Hear what a man thinks of a thing 
like you, and afterwards take what I mean to 
give you !" 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he 
turned once more, and there, at the window, 
framed in its black square, with a lamp in her 
hand, stood Pompilia. Before he could quite 
recover from his astonishment and assure him- 
self that she was really flesh and blood, she had 
vanished. 

He thought they had brought her there on 
some pretence of seeing a procession or a wed- 
ding-band go by, and that she was unconscious 
that they were using her as a snare for him. 
He was about to repeat his challenge to Guido, 
when all at once she reappeared, but this time 
on the terrace just above him. She could have 
touched his bowed head as she bent down ; but 
he stood as if transfixed. 

" You have sent me letters, sir," she said in 
a sad, lowered voice and with furtive glances 
back into the gloom. " I can neither read nor 

5* 



54 Tales from Ten Poets. 

wi'ite, and hence I have read none of them. 
But the woman you gave them to, one of those 
in whose power I am, has partly explained their 
sense to me. She makes me listen, and reads an 
odious thing, — that you, a priest, can love me, 
a wifej because you once got a glimpse of my 
face. I cannot, sir, believe this ; but, oh ! good 
and true love would help me so much now. So 
much, so much ! Is it possible — can it be, that 
you do mean what is good and true ? You seem 
the soul of truth, and have not been untrue to 
me ; I can read it in your eyes. "Will you not 
take me to Eome, then? When do you go? 
Each minute lost is fatal. When, when ? I ask." 

Caponsacchi spoke fervently, but in a guarded 
whisper, " Take you I It would be inhuman, un- 
manly, to leave you. Yes, you shall go to your 
friends to-morrow, as soon as I can arrange for 
the journey. How shall I see you and help 
you to escape?" 

"O good and true!" she said. "Pass to- 
morrow at this hour. If I am at the open 
window, all is well. If I am absent, drop a 
handkerchief and walk by. I shall see you 
in my hiding-place, and know that everything 
is ready. Return at the same time the next 
evening, and the next, and so, till we can meet 
and speak." 

" To-morrow at this hour I will be here," said 



The Ring and the Book. 55 

Caponsacclii, and then she withdrew into the 
house. 

Caponsacchi wandered away through the 
streets, unconscious whither he went. He was 
full of conflicting thoughts, of reasons for and 
against his promised course, of fears lest he 
should bring Pompilia shame by helping her as 
she had asked, and of fierce determination to 
leave her no longer at Guido's mercy. 

When the gray of morning broke he found 
himself facing his own church of the Pieve, 
and felt the reproaches of his broken vows. 
The Church seemed to tell him to give Pompilia 
up ; and, rising to the level of self-renuncia- 
tion which she had taught him, he resolved to 
obey it. He went home and tried to busy him- 
self with his books, but the effort came to naught. 
He saw nothing save the one black name across 
every white page. When sunset came he madly 
yearned to go to her, but he resisted. What if 
he were charged with cowardice and fear ? He 
knew she would divine his true motive. 

But the next evening another thought came 
to him and absolved him from his determination. 
Being a priest, he persuaded himself that he 
must not neglect the priest's peculiar duties. 
He decided to go to her as a friend, to advise 
her and administer spiritual comfort. 

There she stood, waiting, over the terrace, 



56 Tales from Ten Poets, 

and when he drew near she spoke with hurried 
anxiety. 

^' Why, why have you made me wait two long 
days ? "We are both in the same mind : why 
delay ? You know my need. Still, through God's 
pity on me, there is time ! Oh, save me, save me !" 

" Lady, waste no word, even to forgive me," 
he passionately answered. " Leave this house 
to-morrow night just before daybreak ; there's a 
new moon now, and there will be no light in 
the early morning. Go to the Torrione, step 
across the broken wall, take San Clemente, — 
there's no other gate unguarded then, — cross to 
the inn beyond, and I will be there." 

" If I can find the way," she said, — " but I will 
find it! Go now!" And then she too turned 
and went away. 

Caponsacchi went home and made what ex- 
cuses were needful to his servants. Then he put 
on a secular costume, and, dreaming all the way 
of the ecstatic minute when Pompilia should 
appear to him at the inn, wandered thither 
hours before the time appointed. 

When the day began to break she came down 
the dark road and over the ruined wall. She 
was dressed all in black from head to foot. She 
did not speak, but glided swiftly into the car- 
riage. Caponsacchi cried to the postilion hur- 
riedly and under his breath. 



The Ring and the Book. 57 

" To Eome, then ask what you will !" 
He sprang in beside her, and at last they 
were alone. 

lY. 

It was near noonday on the morning of Pom- 
pilia's flight that, as Count Guido afterwards 
averred upon his trial, he rose from bed, startled 
into consciousness by some unwonted noise 
among his servants, and found himself dazed 
and bewildered. He had a strange taste in his 
mouth, he said, as of a sickening opiate, and his 
eyes were heavy and sightless. His wife was 
gone from his side, and scattered about the 
room were a rifled clothes-chest, a money-coffer 
turned upside down, and several empty jewel- 
boxes. 

" What does this mean ?" he demanded sternly 
of his servants ; but they had been drugged as 
well as he, and it dawned very gradually upon 
them that Pompilia had eloped. 

" But whither, and with whom ?" asked Guido. 

" With whom but the Canon ?" they answered 
in chorus, and then, with subtly-hinted igno- 
rance and assumed despair and rage, he listened 
to the whole story of Caponsacchi's supposed 
correspondence with his wife. He could scarcely 
forbear a chuckle at the complete success of his 
plan, but he kept up the appearance of grief 



58 Tales from Ten Poets. 

with excellent effect, the more especially as 
most of his servants were awake to his deceit, 
and the gathered neighbors, though not perhaps 
conscious of his last baseness, were nevertheless 
too rejoiced at the escape of the ill-treated wife 
to scan very critically the actions of the hus- 
band. 

Guido got into the saddle at once, and, un- 
accompanied by even a single servant, for rea- 
sons of his own, set out in pursuit of the fugi- 
tives. He found by inquiring at the earlier 
stages on the Eoman road, that they had a start 
of eight hours at least, but he cantered steadily 
on, grim and determined, his one hope being 
to overtake them before they actually reached 
Eome, where they would pass into the jurisdic- 
tion of the Church and so elude the full extent 
of his vengeance. 

Meanwhile, Caponsacchi and Pompilia had 
driven with unbroken speed, scarce resting for 
the bread and wine which were handed them 
while the horses were changing, and never 
alighting the whole day or night through until 
they were within twelve hours' journey of Home. 
Then in the early morning they quickly started 
off again, after the exhausted Pompilia had 
received a bowl of milk from a woman at the 
post-house gate ; and they made no other stops 
until they had reached the little white-walled 



TJie Blng and the Book. 59 

clump of houses and cypress-trees which is 
called Castelnuovo. 

" Eome !" cried Caponsacchi, " Eome is the 
next stage, think ! You are saved, sweet lady !" 

The sky was aflame with a fierce red sunset, 
and when Pompilia awoke at his voice she 
looked about her in a bewildered way as if 
dazzled by the burst of color. 

" No farther, no farther !" she exclaimed ; " I 
can go no farther now !" And then she swooned 
and lay still and white in Caponsacchi's arms. 

He bore her down from the coach and into 
the inn through a pitying group of grooms and 
idlers, and laid her on a couch within-doors. 
The host urged him to let her rest an hour or 
so, and though he dreaded to halt before they 
entered Eome, yet he could not refuse. He 
paced the passage and kept watch all night 
long, but she made not a single movement nor 
uttered even a sigh. They counselled him to 
have no fear, she slept so soundly ; but he feared 
more and more as the hours sped on that 
something would happen to arrest their flight 
and prevent the fulfilment of Pompilia's dearest 
wish of joining her parents. 

At the first touch of midnight gray in the east 
he was in the yard, urging the sleepy grooms 
to have out the coach and horses ; offering them 
anything, all he possessed, if they would only 



60 Tales from Ten Poets. 

make haste. They worked drowsily enough in 
the doubtful morning ; but Caponsacchi felt that 
he must awaken Pompilia even now, early as 
it was, and he turned towards the steps to 
ascend to her. 

There, facing him in the dusk court-yard, 
stood the grim and revengeful Count Guido. 

" Good-morning to your priestship!" the Count 
half hissed out with bitter emphasis. " Come, 
the lady ! — how could you leave her so soon ? 
You've escaped my treatment ; you slept with- 
out drugs, I see. But I have you at last !" He 
spoke now in a higher voice, and addressed the 
officers he had brought in with him. 

"Help, friends! Here, this is a priest, this 
rascal in his smart disguise, with a sword at 
his side. My runaway wife is up-stairs. Do 
your duty, quick. Arrest and hold him. 
There, bravo ! Kow come up with me and take 
her." 

On either side of Caponsacchi instantly stood 
an officer, or he would have thrown himself, 
boiling with hatred, upon the craven Count, 
and plunged the sword he was so little used to 
handling through his heart. The Count instinc- 
tively felt this, and kept at a good arm's length 
from him, even while he was in the custody of 
the officers. But when Guido spoke of cap- 
turing her, Caponsacchi was sobered. 



The Ring and the Booh 61 

" Let me lead the way," he exclaimed, " and 
see, when we meet, if you can detect any guilt 
on her face ; then judge between us and him." 
And he pointed contemptuously towards Count 
Guido. 

They all went up together and entered 
Pompilia's chamber. She lay there in the 
early morning sunlight as calmly as when 
Caponsacchi had brought her in the evening 
before. 

Guido stalked up to the couch and pointed 
to the pale face on the pillow. 

" Here she lies, feigning sleep ! Seize her, 
bind her !" he said. 

She started up then, aroused by the tumult 
of many feet and voices, and stood erect, face 
to face with her husband. He fell back to 
the alcove of the window, his black figure 
showing like a blot against the flood of morn- 
ing light, and as he retreated, all the latent 
energy of her being was kindled by the sight 
of him. 

"Away from between me and my doom!" 
she cried. " I am in God's hands now, — no 
longer yours!" And she pointed scornfully, 
like an angered queen, to the door, looking 
across her shoulder the while fearlessly into his 
face. 

Caponsacchi made an effort to reach her side 

6 



62 Tales from Ten Poets. 

from where he stood in the door-way, but he 
was pinioned fast. As he struggled the crowd 
pressed upon him. 

" And him, too !" she cried ; " you outrage him 
with your vile touch ? But I'll save him !" 

She leapt at Guido's sword, drew it, and 
brandished it, crying, "Die, in God's name!" 
but they closed about her twelve to one and 
disarmed her, and she lay at last, overcome and 
deadly white, upon the bed. 

Pompilia's threatening use of the sword had 
intimidated Guido, and he hastened to have her 
taken into custody. 

"You saw, you heard?" he cried again and 
again. "Bear witness to her disloyalty and 
write down her words !" Then he commanded 
them to carry Caponsacchi and Pompilia to 
the prison, meanwhile himself undertaking the 
search of the apartment. His fear was fast 
passing away now, and he began to strut about 
the room directing the attendants hither and 
thither in search of incriminating booty. Not 
a few winks were exchanged by the gossips 
who watched the work ; and whispered sar- 
casms, levelled at Guido, clearly spoke the 
temper of the crowd. He was becoming a 
laughing-stock, revealing his true character 
under his temporary sense of triumph, and the 
sympathy of the by-standers, which had eddied 



The Ring and the Book. 63 

in his favor at the first, was fast flowing out 
to Pompilia and Caponsacchi. 

But the Canon now, as the officers made ready 
to lead him away, asserted himself, and claimed 
the treatment due to his station and influence. 

" We are both aliens here," he said, " both 
noblemen of Tuscany. I am the nobler," and 
he proudly drew himself up to all his manly 
height, " and bear a name you all know and re- 
spect. I could, if I wished, refer our cause to the 
Ducal court, but I prefer, being the priest he 
tells you I am, and disguised for reasons I will 
reveal to my judges, to appeal to the Church I 
serve." 

Such an appeal was lawful and could not be 
refused. They therefore bore the Canon and 
Pompilia separately to Rome to await their 
trial by the judicial officers of the Church. 

Guido likewise, crestfallen and dishonored 
now, despised by those who would have avenged 
honor by the sword, and ridiculed by those who 
had seen his craven conduct at Castelnuovo, 
made his way to Eome, carrying such evidence 
against the pair as he alleged he had found at 
his palace at Arezzo and in the inn-room at 
Castelnuovo. This consisted of all the love-let- 
ters which he charged them with exchanging, 
and much impassioned verse written to Pom- 
pilia by the amorous Canon. 



64 Tales from Ten Poets. 

These things, with the letter written by Pom- 
pilia under his direction to his brother Paolo, 
Guido brought forth in the trial which promptly 
took place ; but he was confronted by the evi- 
dence that Pompilia could neither read nor 
write, and by a full and convincing denial from 
Caponsacchi that he had ever written such 
letters as were produced in a hand which simu- 
lated his own. The court accepted this opposing 
testimony, but there had been an undoubted 
wrong done to Count Guido by the Canon and 
Pompilia, and, taking the accustomed middle 
course, it imposed upon Caponsacchi a nomi- 
nal banishment to Civita for three years, and 
consigned Pompilia for a season to the convent 
of the Convertites at Eome. 

This was not the kind of verdict that Count 
Guido had hoped for. His family pride and 
self-love had been deeply wounded by the con- 
duct of the Comparini and by the discovery 
of Pompilia's base birth. But his was a vin- 
dictive nature rather than a vain one, and the 
miscarriage of his well-laid plot for Pompilia's 
undoing was more painful to him than even the 
injury done to the reputation of his noble house. 
He was welcomed, moreover, on his return to 
Arezzo, whither he went at the close of the 
trial, by an exasperating volley of sly questions 
and innuendoes impeaching his courage. 



Tlie Bing and the Book. 65 

" What, back — you, and no wife ? Left her 
with the Penitents, hey?" And they plied him 
again and again for news of Caponsacchi. " So 
he fired up, did he, — showed fight, and all that ? 
And you drew also, but you didn't fight. Well, 
that's wiser ; he's an impetuous fellow, and dan- 
gerous when he's angry." 

This went on until the Count could bear it no 
longer. His own sense of deficiency in courage 
gnawed at his heart, and he longed for resolu- 
tion enough to take vengeance on some of his 
tormentors, but he dared not venture it. His 
ardor cooled at the very touch of the sword- 
hilt. 

But there was one way of harassing the real 
enemy and at the same time vindicating his name 
and house. His wife's punishment was really 
equivalent to an acknowledgment on the part 
of the court that she was deemed guilty of in- 
fidelity, and upon this ground he could readily 
apply for a divorce. This he promptly did, 
meaning by one fortunate stroke to be rid of 
the hated Pompilia and to secure to himself her 
coveted dowry, the source of all his troubles. 

But the Comparini were as wary as himself. 
They immediately met this appeal with a 
counter-claim. Pompilia was made to demand 
a divorce from Count Guido Franceschini on 
the score of cruelty inflicted upon her in his 
1,—e 6* 



66 Tales from Ten Poets. 

household, and by himself, his mother, and his 
cousin, the Canon Conti. 

Here was a serious dilemma. If this charge 
were substantiated and a divorce granted to 
Pompilia, the dowry, all he really desired and 
contended for, could never be his. He was not 
a brave man, nor was he a resolute one, and 
these accumulating ills, which to a worthier 
nature would have been spurs to firmness and 
vigorous action, were gradually unmanning him 
and' dragging him down to the level of brutal 
revenge. 

One more blow was to come, and it came 
quickly and cruelly. News now arrived at 
Arezzo that, Pompilia's health demanding 
change after three weeks' confinement in the 
convent, the court had consented to grant her 
request for transfer to some private place where 
she could breathe purer air and receive more 
wholesome food. "What was more likely than 
that she should choose the Comparini's deep- 
shaded villa by the Pauline gate ? There, at any 
rate, she became domiciled before long, under 
nominal imprisonment, but really free to go and 
come as she liked. 

To the Abate Paolo in Eome, who saw in 
this arrangement an escape from the charges 
for Pompilia's maintenance which had hitherto 
been made upon Guido's purse, it was a welcome 



The Ring and the Book. 67 

piece of news. But to Guido, already goaded 
to frantic hatred of the Comparini, it was a 
sore and deep wound. To think that he had 
driven her from his home in the company of 
the man she loved, for this ! To think that he 
himself was responsible for her restoration to 
the place of all others he wished to bar her 
from! The thought was maddening, and he 
brooded alone in his gloomy palace, over- 
whelmed with miseries and nursing a fierce 
resentment. 

But now came a letter from Paolo bluntly 
saying,— 

" You are blessed with an heir. A child was 
born to Pompilia in the Pauline villa on Wednes- 
day last. This accounts for her sudden flight 
from the convent. The Comparini have hidden 
the child away to avoid your claims. They 
mean to use it themselves : they well know its 
worth to them." 

This brief bit of news acted like a spark of 
flint upon Gruido's inflammable feelings. Yanity, 
disappointment, greed, and untold rancor and 
pain, burst into one consuming desire for re- 
venge. Subtle calculation, which was with him 
an innate habit, also contributed to this burn- 
ing impulse. Were once Pietro, Yiolante, and 
Pompilia out of the way and the child adjudged 
his own, there would be little chance for the 



68 Tales from Ten Poets. 

wealth to elude him. The legality of Pompilia's 
birth was still an undecided question, and with 
herself and her parents gone, who could raise a 
breath of opposition to the claims of an heir so 
clearly entitled to the inheritance as Pompilia's 
son? 

Count Guido was at his villa in Yittiano when 
the news reached him, and the sting of all his 
accumulated bitterness impelled him to sudden 
action. He called in his serving-people and told 
them his wrongs. Though they had no reason 
to love a master who was close and cruel, yet 
their loyalty to his house and their sense of 
justice, to which he appealed with all the art 
taught him by his life of intrigue in Eome, 
were aroused by his subdued yet fierce story. 
He pictured his happiness with his young wife, 
and dwelt on the deep injury done him by 
Caponsacchi, who stole her away from him. 
They scarcely waited for the end before they 
began to murmur and raise threatening hands. 
Their dark eyes flashed a dangerous light, and 
at last they broke out in a clamor for vengeance. 

"Not one of us," said a stalwart vine-dresser, 
— " not one of us who dig your soil and dress 
your vines but would have brained him, — the 
man that tempted her. And her! — we would 
have staked her too for her own share." 

Then Guido fixed on the first four who caught 



The Eing and the Book. 69 

his eye, resolute and lusty yeomen with fresh 
hearts and all the young Italian fire unquenched 
in their veins. He chose these, filled his purse 
with what coin was left by the fleeing pair, put 
on the first rough country dress he found ; then, 
armed with the weapons that came first to hand, 
the five flung out into the road and galloped on 
to Eome. 

It was on Christmas Eve that they found 
themselves in the holy city, and they went di- 
rectly to the Abate Paolo's house; but either 
because he had scented the coming trouble, with 
his subtle foresight, or because he had been sent 
away on some sudden mission for his patron 
Cardinal, Paolo was absent from home. 

Guido and his servants, being thus foiled of 
lodgings and a friendly hand, wandered about 
the city for a week, meditating, but not daring, 
in the holy season, to do the deed they were 
bent upon. Everywhere the streets were full of 
festivity and mirth, and through all the church 
doors came constant echoes of the chant of 
"Peace on earth." But to Guido the refrain 
brought no change of heart. He knew no peace 
and could gain none until his enemies were de- 
stroyed. His brother's deserted house mocked 
him with the remembrance of past happiness 
and ease of heart. His whole life seemed barren 
of good. He saw nothing of the face of the 



70 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Holy Infant, because the face of Satan lurked 
always behind it. He tried to pray, but his lips 
murmured only hatred. The song of " Peace on 
earth" pealed louder and louder ; but he mur- 
mured in reply, " O Lord, how long, how long 
to be unavenged ?" 

On the ninth day the strain of these conflict- 
ing purposes became unbearable, and he felt 
that he must act or himself perish. He started 
up and said, " There must be an end of this ;" 
and then came the message, scratching in his 
brain like the tick of a death-watch, " One more 
concession, only one sure way, and but one, to 
determine the truth. Decide instantly; then 
act!" 

And act he did. He called his companions 
together and instructed them in their parts. 
They were to steal through the city that night, 
by certain blind cuts and black turns which 
they had already explored, to the little suburban 
villa by the Pauline gate. 

Accordingly, when the sun had gone down, 
they set out through the snow, and reached 
Pietro's villa without a single suspicious eye to 
hinder their course. 

Y. 

Within the villa life had taken on much 
of its old appearance since Pompilia's return. 



The Ring and the Book. 71 

The Comparini were still in sore need, and the 
gossip arising from their now notorious affairs 
had exposed the encroaching traces of poverty 
which they had taken such pains to conceal. 
The birth of Pompilia's child, too, had brought 
new cares, but it had also brought new and 
tenderer sentiments to the fireside, so that all 
else which touched upon the unfortunate mar- 
riage was allowed to rest silently in the hearts 
of the restored household. The worst had come 
and gone, they said, and they were still together 
to bless and comfort each other, and they asked 
for nothing more. 

The villa by the Pauline gate, which looked 
gloomy enough in the dusk shade of the sum- 
mer leaves, was not made much more cheerful 
by the bare limbs which now rose before it 
and partly screened it from the road. It was 
a place at all seasons of the year to conjure up 
thoughts of midnight alarms and masked rob- 
bery; and when the snow-laden winds blew 
about its gables it had more than ever the ap- 
pearance of inviting stealthy crimes. 

But the interior was cheerful enough, what- 
ever the outside might suggest. Around the 
blazing hearth the family group sat comfortably 
bending in to the glow of the wood and talked of 
Pompilia's boy, what he should do and be when 
he was grown up, and what name he should 



72 Tales from Ten Poets. 

bear, — Pompilia said Gaetano, — and a thousand 
fancies more which Pompilia set on foot, and 
which the old couple spun eagerly and endlessly 
out. 

They had given Pompilia each an arm to lead 
her about from the couch to the fireside, and 
now they laughed as she lay safe in her seat, 
predicting how, one day, she should have a 
strong son's arm to help her in her need. Then 
they all laughed again in quiet contentment and 
wished one another once more a happy New 
Year. 

But Pietro still dwelt a little on his wrongs 
and his slender purse, and occasionally he would 
break forth with half a sigh for the old friends 
and old habits. 

" Our cause is gained," he said, " but we will 
avoid the city now, — no more parade and feast- 
ing, and all that. We'll go to the other villa 
still farther off, where we can watch the boy 
grow. Ah, well, one or two friends may still 
hunt us up, — and I'll have a flask of the old 
sort for them, never fear." 

"You chatter like a crow," said Yiolante. 
"Pompilia's tired now and must go to bed. 
Enough for the first day, a little more to-mor- 
row, and the next she can begin to knit. I've 
spun wool enough ; see, child !" And she held 
up the bulky skeins. 



The Ring and the Book. 73 

The next day about noon Pietro went out. 
He was so happy, and talked so much, that 
Violante pushed him forth into the cold. 

"So much to see in the churches," she said. 
"Swathe your throat three times round, and 
above all beware of the slippery ways, and 
bring us all the news by supper-time." 

He came back late and laid by his cloak, staff, 
and hat. They were powdered thick with snow, 
and Pompilia and Yiolante laughed at them, as 
he rolled out a great ashen log upon the hearth 
and bade Violante treat to a flask in return 
for his obedience. Ay, he had gone faithfully 
through the seven churches, and there was 
none to his mind like old San Giovanni. 

" There's the fold," he said, " and the sheep, 
in a flock, as big as cats ! And such a shepherd, 
— half life-size, — he starts up and hears the 
angel " 

Then at the door there came a tap. They all 
started up together. Yiolante went over, and, 
without lifting the latch, called, — 

"Who's there?" 

She stood listening. 

After a moment's silence some one on the 
other side answered, — 

" Giuseppe Caponsacchi." 

It was Guido who had answered As the five 
stealthy figures stole up to the villa door, they 



74 Tales from Ten Poets. 

saw the warm light stream through the cracks, 
and felt the sense of life only an inch or two 
within. Some angel must have whispered Guido 
to give his victims one more chance, for he bade 
the others stand aside, and himself knocked at 
the door. As Yiolante spoke, he resolved to 
make a last trial of Pompilia. If the door 
opened to Caponsacchi's name, her guilt was 
proven and his deed would be justified. Per- 
haps, too, he welcomed, even at this extremity, 
any excuse which would afford him an oppor- 
tunity for retreat. 

He called the name, therefore, and the door 
was promptly opened. Yiolante stood with 
welcoming hands upon the threshold. Pompilia 
had risen from her chair, and her hands, joy- 
ously clasped, told how eager she was to see her 
rescuer. Old Pietro turned half around from 
the fire with a dubious look. He scented new 
trouble in this last intrusion. 

There was a pause outside, and Yiolante was 
surprised to see three or four dark figures, who 
drew farther into the gloom as she advanced to 
the step. Then, presently, one broke from the 
rest and strode boldly forward. It was Guido, 
whose hatred had overcome his cowardice. In 
an instant and without warning he sprang upon 
her, and she fell across the door-way wounded 
with a dagger-thrust. He stepped over her 



The Ring and the Book. 75 

and plunged into the room, and then the rest 
entered and threw themselves upon old Pietro 
and Pompilia. 

When all was done, the five dark figures 
emerged from the door-way and filed noiselessly 
out through the garden into the high-road. The 
snow on the ground muffled their tread, and 
they followed their leader swiftly and without 
a word up the deserted road. 

But the noises within had aroused the neigh- 
bors, and before the murderers were well out 
of sight friends from the near-by mill and 
grange came flocking in to see what had hap- 
pened. They were followed promptly by the 
Public Force, the Head of which, tracking the 
footprints in the snow, was soon out in hot 
pursuit of the fugitives. 

Guido and his men had the start and chose 
their own direction, and they travelled rapidly, 
notwithstanding the condition of the wintry 
road. But, in spite of his craftiness and his 
week of calculating preparation, Guido had 
neglected to provide himself with the necessary 
passes for travelling by post. He boldly de- 
manded horses from the postmaster, and dis- 
creetly slid a ducat into his palm, whispering 
how he, the Count, and his four knaves had just 
been mauling an enemy whose kindred might 



76 Tales from Ten Poets. 

prove troublesome : they wanted horses in a 
hurry. But the postmaster refused unless the 
Count could show him the Permission. Guido 
whispered again, this time that he was a Duke, 
not a Count, that the dead man was a Jew. 
But he found he was dealing with perhaps the 
one scrupulous fellow in all Eome. The Count 
was without a hat and was splashed with blood. 
The determined postmaster finally put by his 
bribe and insisted on the rules of the road. 

" "Where is the seal of the Eoman Police ? 
You might have had it half an hour ago for the 
asking." 

" Lost," said Guido. 

" Get another, then, or you get no horses 
here." And he stood stubbornly blocking their 
passage in the midst of the road. 

But he dared not use force. He was only one 
to a grim and menacing band of five. They 
scowled fiercely at him and strode past into 
the darkness. There was no alternative but to 
travel afoot, and this they did for twenty miles, 
panting and plunging on the miry road, through 
the bleak, open country, through the still and 
lightless villages by the way, and on as far as 
Baccano. 

The rough beginning of the journey taxed the 
strength of the younger men, but much more 
that of Count Guido, who was overweary in 



Tlie Ring and the Book, 77 

soul and flesh, for he had to think as well as act. 
When they had reached Baccano, a town this 
side of the boundary of Tuscany and still 
within the jurisdiction of Eome, they found 
shelter in an outlying grange. They had hoped 
to set foot on Tuscan soil before resting, and 
thus they might have bidden defiance to the 
severity of Roman law ; yet they sank down 
exhausted almost within sight of the border. 

But the tireless officer of the Eoman Force 
had followed them unceasingly through the 
night, and tracked them in the early morning 
to the deserted grange at Baccano. 

There they lay in a lifeless heap, one across 
the other, deaf, dumb, and blind through the 
fatigues and burning passions of their night's 
work. They were red from head to heel, and 
their weapons bespoke the loathsome work they 
had been used in. 

When at last he was aroused by the voices and 
the rough handling of the officers, Guido put on 
a bold front and furiously demanded to know 
why he was thus disturbed, what right they had 
to dog the steps of a stranger and his servants 
in Rome ? 

" What am I charged with ?" he indignantly 
cried. " Who is my accuser ?" 

" Why, naturally, your wife," was the grim 
answer. 

7* 



78 Tales from Ten Poets. 

"My wife!" 

The terrible truth flashed on him. She was 
still alive ; she had seen and known him at the 
villa. 

Then, realizing his danger, his craven heart 
sank within him. His cowardly nature lost 
its courage with its bravado. He fell heavily 
from the horse on which they had set him for 
the journey back to Eome. He was quickly 
restored and remounted, and then the five 
pinioned criminals were carried to the city and 
thrown into prison. And that same day old 
Pietro and Yiolante were laid by the altar in 
San Lorenzo church. 

Yet for four days did Pompilia linger in the 
Eoman hospital. She was cruelly wounded by 
a hand which hated deeply and thu'sted for her 
life. She had been left for dead on the villa 
floor only after the murderers had listened at 
her still heart and tested her breathless lips. 
Guido had held her lovely head up by the long 
silken hair while his accomplices watched for 
the signs of life. Then, when he was convinced 
that she was dead, — she whom he cursed from 
his heart as the source of all his ills, — he cast 
her away from him, and hurried out to gain the 
protection of his Tuscan home. 

Unconscious, she had lain for a long time, but 
not dead J and when the doctors came in they 



The Ring and the Book. 79 

found the life still eddying through her muti- 
lated limbs. She was carried to the hospital, 
and there told her story, her whole life as she 
had known it, to the good friar Don Celestine. 

" All these things are true," she feebly said. 
" You must remember them, because time flies. 
The surgeon cared for me and counted my 
wounds, — twenty-two dagger-wounds, five of 
them deadly ; but I do not suffer much. He 
says I cannot live beyond to-night." 

Then in a half-whisper, while the patient friar 
leaned down to her pillow, she told him her 
pitiful tale. She dwelt much upon the bright 
spots in her dark life, on the birth of her son 
Gaetano, on the tenderness and care of Capon- 
sacchi, and on the love of her old parents, whom 
she had been so happy to join again after the 
cruel life at Arezzo. She said little about Count 
Guido, neither accusing nor blaming him. Hers 
was a wistful and pathetic narrative of sim- 
plicity and innocence that had been deceived, 
but she kept her sweet forbearance to the end, 
and made no accusations against those who had 
wronged her. Yet when she came to speak, at 
the last, about her child, she was sure, she said, 
that he could be only his mother's, born solely 
of love, not of hate. 

"Let us leave God alone," she murmured. 
" He will explain, in good time, what I only feel 



80 Tales from Ten Poets. 

now. I cannot say the things I would. It 
seems impossible to-day. But I shall be righted 
hereafter. Many things are never explained, 
but just known." 

Then, as if faint with her effort to tell all, she 
sank into quietness. But it was only momen- 
tary. Her struggling spirit broke through the 
flesh's weariness, and she whispered tranquilly, 
but with a new lustre in her eyes, 

" There is more yet. My last breath must be 
true. He is still here in the world. It is now, 
when I am like to leave, that I feel most the 
old sensations. Again the face and eyes, and 
the heart of my one friend, with its immeas- 
urable love ! My only friend, all my own, who 
put his breast between me and the spears. No 
work that is begun will, I think, ever pause for 
death. Love will be more and more helpful to 
me in the coming course. Tell him that if I 
seem without him now, that's the world's in- 
sight. Oh, he understands ! He is at Civita, — 
the world is holding us apart again. Tell him 
it was his name I sprang to when the knock 
came at the door. It is through such souls as 
his that God shows us enough of his light to 
rise by." 

She sank back upon her pillow, wan and still. 
The fire had burnt out the shell which held it. 
They covered her and paced sadly away. 



The Ring and the Book. 81 

Then Pompilia was carried to San Lorenzo 
church and laid on the altar beside Pietro and 
Yiolante, who had wronged her greatly through 
loving her greatly. 

But with Count Guido Franceschini it fared 
otherwise. He and his four peasant accom- 
plices were taken before the earthly judges of 
Eome, and were by them condemned to pass 
from the scaffold before a higher tribunal. 

On the day appointed they were dragged in 
open carts through the crowded streets to the 
Place of the People, where a holiday throng 
had gathered to see the end of a noble convict. 
There, as had been decreed, Guido suffered death 
upon the block, and his four knaves were hung, 
two on each side of him. 

Human justice was at last appeased for the 
crime done at the villa by the Pauline gate. 



I—/ 



THE PRINCESS. 

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, 



THE PRINCESS. 



I. 

In a land under the Northern star there lived 
once a Prince of royal blood, who was very fair 
of face, and wore long yellow ringlets in token 
of his birth in the country of the year-long 
snow. He was, though, of an amorous temper 
and fond of romantic adventure, and if these 
traits fitted ill with his Norland blue eyes and 
flaxen hair, they made him none the less noble, 
but threw about him a subtler charm than be- 
longed to his hardier kinsfolk. 

Now, there was an ancient legend in the house 
of this Prince that some sorcerer, who was 
burnt by a far-off ancestor because he cast no 
shadow, had foretold when he died that none 
of all that royal lineage should know shadow 
from substance, and that at last one should come 
to fight with shadows and should fall in the 
fray. 

Such was the story the Prince's mother had 
taught him at her knee ; and in good truth 

8 85 



86 Tales from Ten Poets. 

waking dreams had always been, more or less, 
the prevailing affection of the house. The Prince 
himself had, as he grew up, weird seizures. On 
a sudden in the daylight and in the very midst 
of his companions — even while he walked and 
talked as he was accustomed to do — he seemed 
to move in a world of ghosts and feel like the 
mere shadow of a dream. The great court 
physician nodded gravely over such a symptom 
and stroked his beard in meditation, then he 
muttered " catalepsy" or some such thing, and 
did nothing at all to cure the malady. 

The Prince's mother was much troubled by 
his seizures and said a thousand prayers for his 
recovery, for she was as mild as a saint and 
half canonized by her subjects, so gracious and 
tender was she in all things. But the King, his 
father, thought a king should be all a king. He 
cared little for the love of his royal household, 
but held his sceptre like a school-master's rod, 
the scourge of offenders, whom with his long 
hands reached forth he picked out from the 
mass of his people for austere judgment. 

It chanced, while the Prince was still but a 
tender youth, that he was betrothed to a neigh- 
boring Princess ; and she was proxy-wedded to 
him with a calf, as the custom in that land was, 
at eight years old. From time to time rumors 
of her beauty came to the Northern court from 



The Princess. 87 

the South, where she dwelt, and also came gossip 
about her well-knit and comely brothers, who 
were youths of prowess in the field of sport 
and fight. The Prince still wore her picture 
hanging at his heart, and beside it a single dark 
tress of her hair, and all about these tokens his 
thoughts would constantly hover, like a swarm 
of bees about its queen. 

But the time drew near when the real wed- 
ding should take place between the Prince and 
his betrothed bride; and his father the King 
sent ambassadors, bearing gifts of furs and 
jewels, to bring her back. They went their 
way, and returned at the allotted time carrying 
a wondrous piece of tapestry with them as an 
oifering to the King, but not the Princess. The 
answer from the South was as vague as the 
wind. They saw the King, her father ; he took 
the gifts, he acknowledged there was a compact 
of marriage, all that was true ; but then she 
had a will of her own, — was he to blame for 
that? — and also maiden fancies of an unusual 
kind, — liked to live alone among her women ; 
and, in short, he was certain she would not wed. 

The Prince stood by the throne in the presence- 
room as this message was delivered, and with him 
were his two friends, Cyril, a gentleman of 
broken fortunes, due to his father's waste, but 
a merry and revelling companion, and Florian, 



88 Tales from Ten Foefs. 

the Prince's bosom comrade, almost his half 
self, for they were never apart. 

While the returned ambassadors spoke, the 
Prince watched his father's face and saw it 
grow long and troubled, then threatening and 
wrathful. The King started to his feet and tore 
the letter from his Southern ally into atoms, and 
these he cast down angrily, and then rent through 
with one blow the beautiful tapestry, his royal 
gift. At last he swore that he would send a hun- 
dred thousand men and bring the Princess in a 
whirlwind. Then he turned to his war-captains 
and appeased his wrath in martial talk. 

But at last the Prince spoke up : " Let me go, 
father. Perhaps some mistake has been made. 
I cannot believe that such a king, one whom 
everybody praises for fairness and kindness, 
should send back such an answer ; or maybe if 
I saw the Princess I should not care for her 
and should repent my bargain." 

And Florian said, "I have a sister there, too, 
an attendant on the Princess. She married a 
nobleman of that country, who died lately and 
left her the lady of three castles. Through her 
we might do much to mend matters." 

" Take me, too," whispered Cyril. " What if 
you have a seizure there in a strange land? 
You'll need a trusty friend, and I'll be that. 
Pm rusting out here in idleness." 



The Princess, 89 

" No !" roared the irate King, " you shall not ! 
We ourself will crush her pretty maiden fancies 
in these iron gauntlets ! Break up the council !" 

And then the company scattered, in some 
dread of the royal rage ; but the Prince went 
forth into the woods that circled the town, and, 
finding a still place, pulled out the Princess's 
likeness and laid it on the flowers beside his 
bending elbow. As he gazed on the sweet face 
of his betrothed he began to wonder what were 
her strange fancies and why she wanted to break 
her troth. The lips surely looked a trifle proud 
and disdainful ; but while he meditated a wind 
came up from the south and shook all the leaves 
overhead together, and a voice seemed to come 
from them saying, " Follow, follow, and thou 
shalt win." 

Then before the moon grew full, for it was 
now but a slender crescent, he stole from court 
with Cyril and Florian, and crept through the 
town, dreading each moment to hear the hue 
and cry of his father hallooing at his back. 
But all was quiet enough, and they dropped over 
the bastioned walls like spiders and fled away, 
and reached the frontier before they were 
missed. They crossed then to a livelier coun- 
try, and so, through farms and vineyards and 
tracts of green wilderness, they gained the King's 
city, where amid its circling towers arose the 

8* 



90 Tales from Ten Poets. 

imperial palace, and thither they went and 
found the King. 

His name was Gama. He had a small cracked 
voice and but little dignity, but his smile was 
bland enough and drove his old cheeks into 
wrinkling lines. He looked in truth not much 
like a king, but he was royal in his treatment 
of the visitors, and for three whole days they 
feasted in his palace. Then on the fourth day 
they told him, mellowed with wine and hearty 
with good cheer, why they had come, and of 
the Prince's desire to see his betrothed. 

"You do us great honor. Prince," he said. 
" We remember love ourself in far-away youth. 
Yes, we made a compact with your father — a 
kind of ceremony — I think" — and he placed one 
musing finger on his brow — " I think it was the 
summer our olives failed. Hem ! I would you 
had her, Prince. But there was a pair of 
widows here, Lady Psyche and Lady Blanche, 
who fed her with all sorts of theories, in place 
and outj always proving to their own satisfaction 
that women are the equal of men. They harped 
on the subject forever ; all our banquets rang 
with it ; even the dancers broke up into knots to 
discuss it. ISTothing but this one theme from 
morning till night. My very ears grew hot to 
hear them at it ! Heigh-ho ! my daughter said 
knowledge was the all in all. As children they 



The Princess. 91 

had only existed ; they must now leave off 
being children, cease merely to exist, and be 
women. Then she wrote awful odes and dismal 
lyrics and made rhymed prophecies of change 
and all that. And they sang these things, sirs, 
and / went away and sought quiet, but her 
women called them masterpieces. They cer- 
tainly mastered me ! Well, at last she came 
and begged a boon of me. Would I give her 
my summer palace up by your father's frontier ? 
I said no, of course, but she wheedled it out of 
me, and she and her maidens went there and 
founded a University for their sex alone. We 
know no more about it than this : they see no 
men, — not even her brother Arac, nor the twins, 
though they look upon her as a paragon. Well, 
I was loath to breed trouble, but since you think 
me bound in some sort by my compact, as no 
doubt I am, why, if you wish it, I can give you 
letters to her. But I don't think your chance of 
seeing her is worth much." 

The Prince was somewhat nettled by such 
cool disregard of a solemn compact, but he 
was chafing now to get a glimpse of his bride, 
and he took the letters and rode forth with 
his friends to the northward. 

At last, after a long day's ride, they looked off 
from a sloping hill-side and saw a rustic town, 
which they presently entered at evening, and 



92 Tales from Ten Poets. 

found it a fair place set in the crescent of a 
winding river. There they found an old hostel, 
and called the landlord into council upon their 
adventure. They plied him with his own rich- 
est wines, and showed him the King's letters, 
which he touched with reverence. 

The landlord declared it was against all rules 
for any man to go to the University, but under 
the seductive touch of the wine and out of re- 
spect for the royal sign-manual he relented at 
last. 

" Well, if the King has given the letters," he 
said, " I am not bound to speak. The King's a law 
unto himself, and he'll bear me out if I obey his 
behests. But," he added, with a sly wink, — " but 
no doubt you would make it worth my while ? 
She passed this way once," he chattered on, " and 
I heard her speak. How she scared me ! Oh, 
I never saw the like! She looked as grand 
and as grave as doomsday. But I reverence her 
too, — she's my liege-lady, your honors; and I 
always make a point to use mares for the post- 
ing, and my daughter and the housemaids I 
make do for boys. Why, the land all about is 
tilled by women, — and the swine are all sows, 
too ; and all the dogs " 

But while the portly host jested and laughed 
in this wise, a thought struck the Prince, which 
he acted on instantly. Eemembering how he 



The Princess. 93 

and Florian and Cyril had once taken the parts 
of nymphs and goddesses in a masque at his 
father's court, he now sent the landlord out to 
buy female apparel for all three, and yqyj soon 
mine host returned laden with gowns and furbe- 
lows and himself shaken with an ill-suppressed 
mirth. He helped to lace the trio up in the 
maidenly garb, and they gave him a costly bribe 
to keep silence ; then they mounted their steeds 
and ventured boldly into the domain of the 
Princess. 

They followed the winding course of the river 
as they had been directed to do, and at midnight 
began to see the far-off college-lights glittering 
like fire-flies in a copse. Then they passed an 
arch, above which rose a statue of a woman 
with wings, riding four winged horses, and they 
could make out in the deep shadow that some 
inscription ran along the front, but could not 
read it. Farther on they came into a little 
street of gardens and houses, where the noise of 
clocks and chimes was deafening, so many were 
there in the place. Fountains, too, spouted up 
here and there amid the flowers, and the song 
of nightingales filled up all the intervals of 
sound. 

Before them now rose a bust of Pallas, be- 
tween two lamps blazoned like Heaven and 
Earth and resting above an open entry. Elding 



94 Tales from Ten Poets. 

in thither, they called for attendance, and a 
lusty hostleress, followed by a stable-wench, 
came running out and helped them down. Then 
a buxom hostess stepped forth, and led them 
into their rooms, which looked out on a pillared 
porch deeply based in laurel-leaves. 

They questioned her about the college, and 
asked who were tutors. 

" Lady Blanche and Lady Pysche," she said. 

The three candidates cried in one voice, " We 
are hers !" 

Then the Prince sat down and wrote in a 
slanted hand like a woman, — 

" Three ladies of the Northern empire pray 
Your Highness to enroll them in your college as 
the Lady Psyche's pupils." 

He sealed and gave this letter to the land- 
lady, to be sent at dawn, and then the three 
companions went to bed and dreamed of the 
adventures to be. 

II. 

Early in the morning the College Portress 
came to the place where the Prince and his 
friends were resting, and brought them Aca- 
demic silks of lilac color, with silken hoods and 
girdles of gold. They put these on without 
parley, and then the Portress, courtesying her 
obeisance, told them that the Princess Ida 



The Princess. 95 

waited. They followed her through a laurel- 
grown porch, and came forth into a marble court 
supported with classic friezes and covered with 
ample awnings hung up between the pillars. A 
fountain played in the midst, circled by the 
Muses and Graces in groups of three, and here 
and there scattered about on the lattice edges 
lay a book or lute. They passed on, and as- 
cended a flight of stairs into a great hall. 

There, with two tame leopards couched near 
her throne, sat the Princess at a table filled with 
volumes and loose papers. In the Prince's eyes 
she seemed the sum of all beauty, as fair indeed 
as an inhabitant of some planet nearer to the 
sun than ours. Such eyes, so much grace and 
power looking down from her arched brows, he 
had never beheld until now, and with every 
turn she made her perfection lived through her 
to the tips of her long hands and to her very 
feet. 

She rose to her full height, and said, "We 
give you welcome. N^ot without some glory 
to ourselves have you come to us, the first- 
fruits of stranger lands. Hereafter in the voice 
which circles around the grave you will rank 
nobly, mingled in fame with me." Then, no- 
ticing them more closely, she exclaimed, — 

" But are the ladies of your land all so tall ?" 

" We of the court," said Cyril. 



96 Tales from Ten Poets. 

" From the court," she answered. " Then you 
know the Prince?" 

" The climax of his age ! Indeed yes, your 
Highness ; and as though there were but one 
rose in the whole world, so he worships you." 

" We scarcely expected to hear such barren 
speech in our own hall," she said. " This light 
kind of coin is current among men, but not with 
us. Your escape from the bookless desert would 
seem to argue love of knowledge, but your 
language proves you still a child. Indeed, we 
dream not of the Prince. When we set our hand 
to this great work we purposed never to wed. 
You likewise, ladies, will do well, in entering 
here, to cast away such tricks as make you the 
toys of men." 

After this harangue the Prince and his 
fellow-candidates seemed much abashed and 
looked steadily down at the matting. Then 
an officer arose and read the statutes of the 
foundation, which declared that for three years 
no undergraduate could correspond with home, 
or cross the boundary, or speak with a man. 
These and a score of others the new scholars 
hastily subscribed to, and they were then re- 
ceived without further ceremony into the college. 

"Now," said the Princess, admonishingly, 
" you are one with us. But you are still green 
wood. See to it that you do not warp." 



The Princess. 97 

Then she led them with majestic movements 
into the hall beyond, and showed them one by 
one the statues of ancient queens and noble 
women of old which stood there. She turned 
as they passed out through the door and spoke 
words of counsel to them, exhorting them to 
live worthy lives and to work out their freedom 
from masculine thraldom. At last she dismissed 
them and bade them go to the Lady Psyche's 
class-room, where all those newly arrived were 
gathered for their first lecture. 

Back they went across the sylvan court-yard 
and found the room, and took their seats with 
the throng of pupils already clustered at the 
long forms. The teacher herself sat erect be- 
hind an elevated desk. She was a sharp-eyed 
brunette, alert and well moulded, and perhaps 
on the hither side of twenty years. At her left 
slept her infant, Aglaia, wrapped in embroidered 
draperies. She glanced keenly at the Prince 
and his companions as they entered, and not 
a gesture or movement of theirs escaped her. 
After a searching look at her face, Florian whis- 
pered, — 

" By Heaven, my sister !" 

" Comely, too, by all that's fair," said Cyril. 

" Oh, hush, hush !" urged the Prince, and she 
began to speak. 

" This universe was at one time nothing but 
I.— E g 9 



98 Tales from Ten Poets. 

liquid flame. Then the star tides set in towards 
the centre of chaos and formed suns. These 
cast off the planets. Then came monsters, and 
at last man." Here she proceeded to take a 
bird's-eye view of the whole earth's past history, 
and, at last, drifted from this into a prophecy 
of the future, when, everywhere, there would 
be two heads in council, two by the hearth, 
two in commerce, two in science and art and 
poetry. 

Thus after a long harangue she ended, and 
the class began to depart, but she beckoned to 
the Prince and his friends to come near to 
her desk. They moved forward as she di- 
rected, and she addressed some words to them 
in praise of the worthy course they had chosen. 

But her voice faltered, after a little speech, 
and she seemed no longer able to play her part. 
She fairly broke down at last, and cried, — 

" My brother !" 

" Well, my sister ?" demurely said Florian. 

" Oh, what do you mean by coming here ? 

And in this dress? And who are these 

Wolves in the fold! The Lord be gracious to 
me ! a plot, a plot, a plot ! It will ruin all !" 

" No plot, no plot," he answered. 

" Wretched boy ! did you not see the inscrip- 
tion above the gate, — Let no man enter in on 

PAIN OF DEATH ?" 



The Princess. 99 

" And if I had," said Florian, " I would not 
have believed you as savage as you seem." 

" But you will find it true," she said. " You 
may jest if you choose ; but it's ill jesting with 
edge-tools." 

"Yery well, then, kill me, and nail me to 
the door like a weasel for a warning ! Bury me 
by the gate, and write above me, — 

* Here lies a brother by a sister slain, 
All for the common good of womankind.^ " 

" Let me be slain, too," said Cyril. " I have 
seen the Lady Psyche and am content to die." 

Then said the Prince, motioning the others 
to silence, — 

"Notwithstanding my disguise, madam, I 
love the truth. Hear it, then, and in me behold 
your countryman, the Prince, afiianced years 
ago to the Lady Ida. Because she is here, and 
because there was no other way to come hither, 
I have ventured to come thus." 

" Oh, sir, my Prince !" said the Lady Psyche, 
" I have no country any more, or if I have, it is 
only this. But, truly, I have none, none at all ! 
Affianced, sir, you say? l^othing that speaks 
of love must be breathed within this vestal limit. 
And how should I, who am sworn to obey in all 
things, bid you stay here and live ? The thun- 
derbolt hangs silent; but, believe me, it will 
fall anon." 



100 Tales from Ten Poets. 

" Hold !" cried the Prince, as she moved away. 
"What if the inscription speaks truly, and 
we are put to death, — what follows ? War, and 
all your precious work marred ; and your Acad- 
emy, whichever side conquers, destroyed !" 

"Let the Princess judge of that," she said. 
<' And now farewell, sir." And to Florian and 
Cyril she made a pitiful adieu, and then, "1 
shudder for your fate, but I am bound in duty 
to go." 

Before she had quite passed from them the 
Prince spoke, and she turned to listen. 

" Are you," he said, " that Lady Psyche, the 
fifth in line from old Florian, whose portrait 
hangs in our palace showing him astride my 
fallen grandsire as he defended him when all 
else had fled ? We point to it even to this day 
and say, the loyalty of Florian has not grown 
cold, but runs warm among us in kindred 
veins." 

"Are you that Psyche with whom I romped 
in childhood?" pleaded Florian. "Are you the 
same that bound my brow and smoothed my 
pillow in sickness and told me pleasant tales and 
read the pain away into happy dreams ? Are 
you the brother and sister in one whom I loved 
of old ? You were^ perhaps, but what are you 
now ?" 

"You are that Psyche," followed Cyril, " for 



The Princess, 101 

whom I would forever be what I seem, — a 
woman, so that I might sit at your feet and 
glean wisdom." 

Then again each in turn pleaded with her, ap- 
pealed to her heart, and to her love of the land 
which bore her, and to her affection for her babe ; 
so that at last, moved and vexed, she cried, — 

" Out upon it ! peace ! And why, then, should 
I not play the Spartan mother ? why should I 
not be the Brutus of my sex ? You call him 
great because he made sacrifice of self to the 
common good. What of me ? Shall I, on whom 
the emancipation of half the world rests, — shall 
I do less ? Shall I hesitate to give up a Prince, 
and a brother?" But she softened visibly at 
the thought, and went on more calmly : " Yet 
perhaps it would be better if I yielded some- 
thing, and I will on one condition : you must 
promise — otherwise you perish — to slip away 
to-day, or at most to-morrow, and I will tell the 
Head that you were too barbarous, — could not 
be taught; you might have brought shame 
upon us, and we are lucky to be rid of you. 
Promise, and all shall be well." 

There was no alternative, so the three in- 
truders promised what she asked, and she, like 
a wild creature newly caged, paced to and 
fro about the room, struggling with her emo- 
tions. At last she paused by Florian and held 

9* 



102 Tales from Ten Poets. 

out her hands ; taking both of his in a fervent 
grasp. Smiling faintly, she said, " I knew you, 
dear Florian, from the first, — the very first. You 
have grown, but you have not altered, no, not 
the least. I am very glad, yet very sad, to see 
you, my brother. Pardon my threats and harsh- 
ness ; it was duty that spoke, not I. And our 
mother, tell me, is she well ?" 

With that she reached up and kissed his fore- 
head, and then clung about him with sisterly 
affection, and between them, from old veins of 
memor}'-, began to flow sweet household talk 
and pensive allusions to the past, which moist- 
ened the tender Psyche's eyes. 

But while they stood thus in happy forget- 
fulness, there came a voice at the door : 

" Here is a message from the Lady Blanche." 

Psyche started and looked up. It was the 
Lady Blanche's daughter Melissa, who stood 
waiting in timid consciousness of her intrusion. 
She was a rosy blonde, dressed in a college gown 
of yellow silk, and she looked like a slender daffa- 
dilly as she gazed with timid eyes into the room. 

"You, Melissa?" exclaimed Psyche. "You 
heard us, then ?" 

" Oh, pardon," faltered Melissa. " I did hear ; 
I could not help it. I did not wish to. But, 
dearest lady, pray do not fear me. I will do 
nothing to harm these gallant gentlemen." 



The Princess. 103 

" I trust you, Melissa," said Psyche, " for we 
were always friends. But your mother, child ! 
— what if she heard ? Do not let your prudence 
sleep a wink. It would ruin all !" 

" You need not fear me," said Melissa. " I 
would not tell, not even for power to answer all 
that Sheba asked of Solomon." 

" Be it so," said Psyche ; and then turning to 
the conspirators, " Go, now," she said ; " we have 
already been too long together. Draw your 
hoods close about your faces. Speak little. Do 
not mix with the rest, and keep your promise." 

They started to go, but Cyril took up Psyche's 
child and blew out his cheeks like a trumpeter 
to amuse it. The lady smiled, and the baby 
pushed forth her fat hand against his face and 
laughed, and when he set her down they went 
out. 

Half the long day they wandered about the 
stately theatres of the college. They sat in 
each one in turn, and heard the grave professors 
discourse on all things human and superhuman, 
until they were quite gorged with knowledge, 
and the Prince said, — 

" Why, after all, they do this as well as we 
do." 

" They hunt old trails," said Cyril, " but never 
advance ; women never can." 

" Ungracious !" exclaimed Florian, " did you 



104 Tales from Ten Poets. 

learn no more than that from Psyche? You 
told her a heap of trash, at any rate. It quite 
made me sick," 

" Oh, trash ! Well, but there was a reason. 
She made me wise in one way, truly. A thou- 
sand hearts lie fallow here and a thousand baby 
Loves go flitting about with headless arrows. 
Well, the bigger boy, Cupid himself, has struck 
me; and, after all, do I chase shadow or sub- 
stance ? There's no sorcerer's malison upon me, 
as there is upon His Highness here. I know a 
shadow when I see it. Are castles shadows, 
think you? Is she herself a shadow in all her 
loveliness ? Why, then, should those three cas- 
tles not help to patch my tattered coat ? But 
hark, there's the bell for dinner !" And the ad- 
venturers went into the great hall and found 
places at the table among the long rows of fair 
students, who chattered in deepest terms of 
science and philosophy throughout the long 
meal. 

When the solemn grace was over the Prince 
and his friends went forth into the gardens, but 
sat apart in muffled silence, save that Melissa 
came now and again to rally them, while the 
rest played at ball, or gossiped by the fountain's 
edge, or opened books and paced to and fro 
upon the smooth sod. 
At last the chapel-bell called to evening ser- 



The Princess. 105 

vice, and the Prince and his fellows mixed with 
the six hundred maidens, clad all in purest white, 
and passed in where the great organ played sol- 
emn hymns, the work of the Lady Ida in verse 
and melody, made to call down a blessing on her 
labors. 

III. 

When the morning came the three trespassers 
carefully dressed one another and descended to 
the courts, which lay shadowed and dewy below 
their windows. They were idly standing beside 
the fountain, watching the bubbles dance and 
break, when Melissa approached them, pale with 
tears and loss of sleep. 

" Fly, fly," she whispered, " while there's still 

time ! My mother knows all." 

"What?" said the Prince, startled by the 
news. 

" It was my fault. Oh, don't blame me ! I 
could not help it. She divined it, drew it from 
me. It is all because of her jealousy of the 
Lady Psyche. She said you looked more like 
men than like women, and laughed at Lady 
Psyche's countrywomen. And I " 

" You blushed," said Cyril. 

"Yes, yes, I blushed, and then she knew, 
and said, 'Why — these — are — men — and you 
know it ! And she knows, too, and conceals it.' 
And now she has gone to the Princess, and Lady 



lOG Tales from Ten Poets. 

Psyche will be crushed. But there is still hope 
for you if you fly at once. Oh, pardon me, say 
you pardon me, before you go !" 

" But who asks pardon for a blush, my sweet 
Mehssa?" said Cyril. "Go to, I'll straighten 
all out, never fear. I must see this Lady 
Blanche and soften her humor." And he went 
away to find Melissa's mother. 

Then Florian asked the fair girl whence the 
feud between the right and left, her mother's 
and his sister's halves of the college, had grown, 
and she told him how the Lady Psyche had 
come from the North and won from Lady 
Blanche the heart of the Princess, and how the 
Lady Psyche and the Lady Ida were boon 
friends, and for this her mother called the 
Lady Psyche plagiarist, and hated her. AYhen 
she had said all this, Melissa darted away, and 
Florian murmured to the Prince as he gazed 
after her, — 

" Surely, an open-hearted girl. I think if I 
could ever come to love, I'd choose her rather 
than your stately Princess, crammed with pride 
and musty learning." 

" Well, let the crane chatter about the crane 
and the dove about the dove," said the Prince. 
" Every man to his liking. For me, the Princess ! 
If she errs, why, she does it nobly, that you 
must allow." 



Tlie Princess. 107 

So disputing, they paced across the court, and 
reached the terrace which ran along its northern 
front. There they leaned upon the balusters, 
gazing out upon the wide and fair landscape 
below them. Thither came Cyril, in a little 
while, yawning. 

" Oh, what a task !" he cried. " No fighting 
shadows, — a real Amazon !" 

" And what success ?" asked the Prince. 

" She was hard as flint," replied Cyril, " with 
a malignant light in her green eyes. I was 
courteous and conciliatory, but to no purpose. 
Who were we ? she asked. I made no conceal- 
ment, — told her all, and dwelt upon your be- 
trothal to the Princess. But she answered that 
I talked astray ; it was untrue. I appealed to her 
mercy, to her love for Melissa, who might come 
to harm for concealing her knowledge of us ; 
but she still repulsed me. At last I plied her 
with an oifer which tempted : ' Would she ac- 
cept in our kingdom the headship of another 
college, where she should reign supreme, not fall 
to third place, as here ?' This moved her. She 
is to give us her answer to-day, and meantime 
will not betray us." 

Here they were interrupted by a messenger 
from the Head, who announced that the Princess 
intended to ride forth that afternoon in order 
to take the dip of certain northern strata, and 



108 Tales from Ten Poets. 

invited them to go with her. They would find 
the land worth seeing, said the maiden, and 
she pointed to the hills beyond, rising at the 
edges of the vale, where, she told them, was a 
water-fall. 

When the hour had arrived, the Prince and 
his friends went to the porch where the Lady 
Ida stood among her pupils, higher by a head 
than any of them. She leaned against a pillar, 
and supported her foot upon the back of one 
of her tame leopards. The lithe animal rolled 
over kitten-like and pawed at her sandal, but 
she did not notice it. 

The Prince drew near and gazed raptly at 
her. Then, on a sudden, his strange seizure 
came upon him, and the Princess and all her 
maidens seemed a hollow show and he himself 
the very shadow of a dream. But yet his heart 
beat fast with passion, and as she glanced, once, 
at him, he sighed in spite of himself and felt a 
longing to kncil at her feet. 

But at last the gay company of girls all got to 
horse and rode forth in a long retinue, following 
the winding course of the river as it narrowed 
between the hills. 

The Prince rode beside the Lady Ida. 

" We trust you thought us not overharsh with 
your companion yesterday," she said to him. 
" We were loath to speak so." 



The Princess. 109 

" N"o, not to her," he answered, " but to him of 
whom you spoke." 

"Again?" she cried. "Are you envoys from 
him to me ? But, as you are a stranger, we will 
give you license. Speak this once, and then no 
more of the subject." 

The disguised Prince stammered that he knew 
him, — that the King expected her to wed his 
son; and then he burst out, "Indeed, you 
seem all the Prince prefigured but could not 
see. Surely if you keep your purpose he will 
be driven to despair, — even to death." 

" Poor boy," she said, " can he not read, or 
forget his worship in ball or quoits ? Does he 
take no delight in martial exercise ? Why, he's 
no better than a silly girl to nurse his blind 
ideal till it enslaves him so." Then she paused, 
and added, haughtily, "As to precontracts, we 
move at no man's nod. Like noble Yashti, we 
keep our state and leave the brawling King at 
Shushan." 

But the Prince said, " You grant me license 
to speak. May I use it freely ? Think of the 
future. You leave your work hereafter to feebler 
hands that overthrow all you have reared. May 
you not miss in this wise what every woman 
counts her due, — love, children, happiness ?" 

" Peace, you young savage !" she exclaimed, 
astonished at the girl's hardihood. " You are 

10 



110 Tales from Ten Poets. 

overbold ; we are not accustomed to be talked 
to thus by our own pupils. Yet as for children," 
she added in a softer voice, " we like them well ; 
would they grew everywhere like wild-flowers ! 
But children die ; and let me tell you, girl, bab- 
ble as you please, great deeds cannot die." 

The Prince made no answer. He was over- 
awed by her fierce outburst, and wondered 
within himself if she might ever be won. 

She seemed to interpret his thoughts, and 
spoke again : 

" We no doubt appear a kind of monster in 
your eyes ; but we are used to that, for women 
have been so long cramped under a worse than 
South-Sea taboo that they cannot guess how 
much their welfare has become a passion with 
us." 

She bowed then, as if to veil a tear that 
came in spite of herself The Prince looked far 
ahead the while, and saw that they had arrived 
where the river sloped to the cataract of which 
the messenger had spoken. The trees were 
above them, and below the plunging waters, 
which foamed over a mass of great boulders 
with an unceasing roar. There, too, beside the 
water, stuck out the bones of some vast monster 
that had lived before the advent of man. The 
Princess gazed at the skeleton awhile, then 
said, — 



The Princess. Ill 

" As those rude bones are to us, so are we to 
the woman that is to be." 

" Dare we dream of the power that wrought 
us as of the workman who betters with prac- 
tice ?" said the Prince. 

"How!" she cried, "you love metaphysics? 
Bead, then, and win the prize !" And she warmed 
to the subject, and told him all her plans, and 
described to him the device carven on the brooch 
which he would gain by winning. They talked 
on from point to point of the college curricu- 
lum. The Prince rejoiced to be in converse with 
his betrothed, be the topic what it might, and 
she was full of burning enthusiasm and all heed- 
less of his growing passion. 

As they talked they rode onward and crossed 
a wooden bridge to a flowered meadow beneath 
a crag. 

" Oh, how sweet," he said, half oblivious, now, 
of the part he was playing, " to linger here with 
one who loved us !" 

"Yes," she answered, "or with fair philoso- 
phers to elevate our fancies ; for this, indeed, is 
a lovely place." Then turning to her maids, she 
called, — 

" Pitch our pavilion here on the greensward 
and lay out the viands." 

They raised a satin tent at her command, 
while she and the Prince set out to climb upon 



112 Tales from Ten Poets. 

the rocks. Behind them went Cyril with the 
Lady Psyche and Florian with Melissa, and they 
wound in and out the pathways of the cliff, 
chattering geologic names and hammering away 
pieces of stone, until the shadows slanted and 
the heights shone out in rosy tints above them. 

When the sun had set they came down from 
the cliff, towards the plain below, where the tent, 
lit from within, shone no bigger than a glow- 
worm. Once, in the descent, the Lady Ida had 
leaned on the Prince, and once or twice he held 
her hand, and his heart beat with kindling pul- 
sations at the contact. But when they had 
reached the level and entered beneath the satin 
roof, they sank upon the embroidered couches 
in grateful ease. On a tripod in the midst rose 
a fragrant flame, and spread before them were 
fruits and viands and golden wines. 

The Princess asked for some music, and one 
of those beside her took the harp and sang. 
When the girl had ended, the Princess looked 
towards the Prince, and said, — 

" Do you not know some song of your own 
land to sing us ?" 

The Prince also sang, but a song he had 
made himself, part long ago and part while he 
sang. It was warm with a ISTorthern lover's 
wooing of a Southern maid, and when he had 
done, all the ladies stared with wide-open eyes, 



The Princess. 113 

and laughed stealthily, wondering what to make 
of it, for his voice rang false and faltered now 
and then from the maiden-hke treble he had 
assumed to his native bass. 

The Princess smiled at the girl's uncouth mel- 
ody, and chided her for singing a mere love- 
poem. Then she said, — 

" But now to mingle pastime with profit, do 
you not know some song that gives the manners 
of your own countrywomen ?" 

And while the Prince was striving to remem- 
ber some such ditty, Cyril, reckless with wine 
or in sheer bravado, struck up a tavern catch 
of flippant words about Moll and Meg. Flo- 
rian looked imploringly at him. The Prince 
frowned, Psyche flushed and trembled, and the 
young Melissa hung her head in fright. 

" Forbear !" cried the Lady Ida. 

"Hold, sir!" said the Prince, and he struck 
him on the breast. 

Cyril started up, and there rose a shriek 
among the women as if a city were being 
sacked. 

Melissa called, " Fly for your lives !" and the 
Princess, " To horse ! home ! to horse !" And the 
whole troop, panic-stricken and bewildered, sped 
away into the dark. 

Before the Prince could realize what he had 
lost, he stood alone with Florian in the deserted 



114 Tales from Ten Poets. 

pavilion, both cursing Cyril, and deeply vexed 
at what had happened. Like parting hopes he 
heard the hoofs crossing the bridge, and then 
came another shriek, " The Head, the Head, the 
Princess !" She had missed the plank in her 
blind rage and rolled into the stream. 

Out sprang the Prince, and saw her white 
robe whirling in the waters towards the fall. 
He gave a single glance, and then, clad in 
woman's vestments as he was, plunged into the 
flood and caught her. Oaring with one arm 
and bearing her up with the other, he tried to 
reach the shore, but it was in vain. They drove, 
at last, on an uprooted tree that hung over the 
water, and, grasping the boughs of this, the 
Prince, supporting the Lady Ida, at last gained 
the shore. 

Her maidens were crowded to the verge to 
take her from him, and they caught her in their 
arms and cried, " She lives." Then they bore 
her back into the tent, but so abashed was the 
Prince by what had passed that he dared not 
meet her eyes. He could not find his friends 
now, and he therefore left her his horse, since 
hers was lost, and pushed on alone to find the 
door-way to the college gardens. 

By blind instinct he finally came upon it, be- 
tween its two great statues of Art and Science. 
He climbed over the top with a great effort, 



The Princess. 115 

dropping on the grass within, and paced back 
and forth in a tumult of thought, till at last a 
light step echoed, and then a lofty female form 
came into view through the uncertain gloom. 
At first he thought it was Ida herself, but it 
proved to be Florian. 

" Hush," said he ; " they are seeking us. ' Seize 
the strangers!' is the cry everywhere. How 
came you here ?" 

The Prince told him. 

" I," said he, " came back with the rest, sus- 
pected and avoided. I crept into the hall and 
slipped behind a statue, and saw the girls called 
up for trial. Each one disclaimed all knowledge 
of us, until, last of all, came Melissa. I pitied 
her, poor child. At first she was silent, but 
when she was pressed closer she confessed ; and 
then, when they asked if her mother knew, or 
Psyche, she refused to say. The Princess formed 
her own conclusion and sent for Psyche, but she 
could not be found. She called for Psyche's 
child to cast it out-of-doors. Then she sent for 
Blanche to accuse her face to face. I slipped 
away and came here. But where will you go 
now ? And where are Psyche and Cyril ? Both 
have gone. What if they have gone together ? 
Would we had never come I I dread his wild- 
ness and the travel through the dark." 

" And yet," said the Prince, " you wrong him 



116 Tales from Ten Poets. 

more than I did, who struck him. His is not 
the nature of the clown, to wrong what he loves. 
For however wild he may be in frolic, as to- 
night, yet he has a true heart under his gayety." 

Scarcely had the Prince done speaking when 
from a tamarisk near by sprang two Proctors, 
crying, "Names!" Florian standing still was 
taken, but the Prince escaped, and led his pur- 
suer a race through all the windings of the gar- 
den. At last his foot caught in a vine, and he 
tripped and clasped the feet of a statue, and 
was caught and known at once. 

They were taken immediately before the Prin- 
cess, who sat enthroned in the hall with a single 
lamp above her and handmaids on either side, 
bowing towards her and combing out her long 
hair, still damp from the river. Close behind 
her were eight strong daughters of the plough, 
huge women of the open air, ready to do her 
commands. 

As the captives were brought in, the crowd 
divided, and they went upward to the throne. 
There beside it lay Psyche's babe, half naked 
as it had been snatched from bed. At the left 
Melissa knelt in tears, but the Lady Blanche 
stood up and defended herself in vigorous 
speech, rehearsing all her wrongs since Psyche 
came into the college, and rating her own virtues 
at no niggardly value. 



The Princess. 117 

To her the Princess coldly replied, " Good. 
But your oath is broken. We dismiss you. 
You can go at once. As for this lost lamb, we 
take it to ourself for redemption." 

The Lady Blanche snarled out a defiance and 
caught Melissa by the arm to drag her away. 
The girl cast an imploring look on Ida, which 
touched Florian to the heart; and while all 
were gazing on her as she hung like a daughter 
of Niobe, one arm appealing to Heaven, a little 
stir began about the door-way, and on a sud- 
den in rushed a post-woman, out of breath, 
who went straight to the throne, where she 
knelt and delivered despatches. The Head took 
them and tore them open in visible amazement. 
As she read, a wrathful flush spread over her 
cheeks and bosom, and her breath came half in 
sobs. The papers rustled in her trembling hand 
through the dead hush ; then the babe at her 
feet began to cry ; and this jarred on her 
anger. She crushed the scrolls together and 
made a sudden movement as if to speak, but 
utterance failed her, and she whirled the letters 
to the Prince as who should say, " Eead." 

One letter was from the King, her father : 

" Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince to 
you we were not aware of your ungracious laws. 
We came after him in haste to hinder any wrong, 
but we fell into his father's hands, who has this 



118 Tales from Ten Poets, 

night slipped round in the dark and invested 
you. He keeps me hostage for his son." 

The other was from the Prince's father to 
the Princess, and ran : 

" You have our son 1 Do not touch a hair of 
his head. Eender him up unscathed and give 
him your hand forthwith. Keep your contract, 
or we will this very night destroy your palace." 

Thus far the Prince read, then stood up and 
spoke impetuously, — 

" Hear me, O noble Ida, and believe that I 
speak the truth. I and my companions came 
hither not to pry into your reserve, but led by 
golden hopes, — hopes that sprang from the royal 
compact made long ago. As a child I babbled of 
you. My nurse would tell me tales about your 
land to beguile me into rest. As a boy you stooped 
to me from all high places and lived in all fair 
lights. At morning and evening I heard the 
woods ring with your name, and you were a 
part of all I beheld on land or sea. As I would 
have striven to reach you had you been impris- 
oned in some other world, so, my youth past and 
manhood giving me the firmer will, 1 came and 
found you here. You were more than all I had 
dreamed or desired, more than the loveliest 
visions of boyhood, more than the serene ideals 
of thoughtful youth, and as I lingered near you 
through the days the beauty ripened and deep- 



The Princess. 119 

ened to my senses, and I cannot leave you, O my 
Princess. I must follow you forever. And yet 
I did not come to you all unauthorized." And 
then on one knee he reached up to her her father's 
letter, and she caught it and dashed it unopened 
at her feet. A tide of fierce words seemed to fal- 
ter at her lips just ready to burst, and she would 
have spoken, but there rose a great hubbub 
in the court below, where half the girls were 
gathered together in a noisy confusion crying 
out in fear of the rumored invasion. 

The Head stood up, robed in her loose black 
hair, and moved to the open window. She 
stretched forth her arms and called out across 
the tumult, and at once it ceased. 

" What do you fear ? Am I not your Head ? 
The storm breaks on me first of all. I am able 
to bear it; what, then, do you fear? Peace! 
our defenders will come. And if they do not 
come, what matter ? I will unfurl our banner 
and meet the foe, or die proudly the first martyr 
of our cause." 

Hereupon the crowd dissolved and moved 
away, and the Lady Ida turned to the Prince 
with mock civilities and praise that had a bit- 
terness beneath it. Then she burst forth into 
uncontrolled anger. 

" I trample on your offers and on yourself!" 
she cried. " Begone, sir ! Your falsehood is hate- 



120 Tales from Ten Poets. 

ful to us. Here, push them from the gates." 
And her stalwart attendants advanced mena- 
cingly. Twice the Prince sought to plead his 
cause ; but the heavy hands were on his shoul- 
der, and he and Florian were forced rudely from 
her presence, and, amid grim jeers and laughter, 
thrust out of the gates. 

They crossed the road and gained a little 
mound, from which they could see the lights 
within and hear the murmur of the voices. 

As the Prince listened he was seized once 
again with his ghostly malady, and all the 
past. Princess and monstrous women-guards, 
the cataract and the warring Kings, were 
shadows. This went by anon, as swiftly as it 
came, but it left him under a cloud of melan- 
choly, which shaking off as best he could, he 
and Florian moved away into the darkness. 

lY. 

Scarcely had the Prince and Florian gone 
three paces when they were saluted by a sen- 
tinel's voice : 

« Stand ! Who goes there ?" 

" Two from the palace," answered the Prince. 

" The second two ; they wait. Pass on," said 
the voice. 

Then a soldier in clanking steel led them 
through the avenues of tents until they heard 



The Princess. 121 

the royal ensign flapping above the imperial 
head-quarters. The two fugitives entered, and 
the sudden light half blinded them, while all 
within began to titter and whisper together at 
their woman's garb, and finally broke forth into 
open laughter. From King to beardless cap- 
tains the entire company shook with prolonged 
mirth, till at length the Prince's father panted 
to his royal hostage, — 

" King, you are free. We kept you only as 
surety for our son, — if this, indeed, be our son — 
or art thou some bedraggled scullion ?" for the 
Prince was drenched and torn with briers and 
all in rags. Then his father roared on, " Go, 
make yourself a man worthy to fight with men 1 
Cyril has told us all." 

Florian and the Prince stole away and 
changed their female attire for glittering ar- 
mor, and came forth into the morning sun, 
which now had risen full above the northern 
hills. Here Cyril met them, at first a little 
shyly, but by and by they asked a mutual par- 
don, and then began the exchange of news. 
Cyril had fled away through the darkness, and 
later in the night had come upon the weeping 
Psyche. " Then we fell into the King's hands," 
he said, " and she lies over there still and speech- 
less." He pointed to a tent a stone's throw 
away, and they went thither and entered. 

F 11 



122 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Within, among piles of arms and accoutre- 
ments, wrapped in a soldier's cloak, upon the 
ground, lay Psyche; at her head a wrinkled 
old woman, follower of the camp, was crouch- 
ing like a watcher of the dead. 

Then Florian knelt down by her and whis- 
pered, " Come, sweet sister, lift up your head. 
You have done no wrong. You could not slay 
me nor your Prince. Look up ; be comforted." 

The Prince likewise strove to soothe her. 
" And I, too," he said, " have I not also lost her, 
in whose least act there is a nameless charm ?" 

She seemed now to hear, and moaned feebly, 
and then sat up and raised the cloak from her 
pallid face. 

" Her !" she said, " my friend, — parted from 
her, — betrayer of her cause and my own ! Where 
shall I breathe ?" Then she cried with a new 
impulse, " Why did you break your faith ? Oh, 
base heart! What comfort for me? None, 
none!" 

"Yet, I pray," pleaded Cyril, "take comfort; 
live, dear lady, for your child." At this she 
fairly broke down, and sobbed piteously. 

" Ah me ! my child, my one sweet child ! Ida 
will hold her back, and she will die of neglect 
or sicken with ill-usage. For every little fault 
she will be blamed because she is mine. They 
will beat her because she is mine. Oh, my 



The Princess. 123 

flower, my babe, my sweet Aglaia ! Ah, what 
might not that man deserve of me who should 
bring me my sweet Aglaia ?" 

"Be comforted," said Cyril; "you shall have 
her." 

She veiled her face once more, and sank back 
upon the ground and would not rise again. 

But now a murmur ran through the camp, 
and the scouts came in with rumor of Prince 
Arac's arrival. The Prince and his friends left 
Psyche with the w^oman, and, going out, found 
the Kings in parley. 

"Look you," said the Prince's father, "that 
the compact be strictly fulfilled ! You have 
spoilt this girl : she laughs at you. She shall 
yield now — or war !" 

Then King Gama turned to the Prince : " We 
fear you spent a stormy time with the Princess. 
Yet they say you still love her. Give us your 
mind : how say you, war or not ?" 

" Not war, sire, if possible," said the Prince. 
"I want her love. War would not bring me 
that ; it would gain me only her scorn. She 
would hate me for it." 

"Tut! you do not know these girls," his 
father roughly broke in. " Look you, sir ! Man 
is a hunter, woman is the game. We hunt them 
just for the beauty of their skins, and they love 
us for it. Out ! for shame, boy ! There's no rose 



124 Tales from Ten Poets. 

half so dear to them as the man that does what 
they dare not do. A soldier wins the coldest 
heart among them. I won your mother so ; and 
a good wife, worth winning, she was. But this 
firebrand, — no gentleness for her." 

*' True," said the Prince. " But, sire, wild na- 
tures need wise curbs. Ida dares all that a 
soldier might dare. I saw her last night when 
she rose storming and cast down defiance to 
all opponents. Believe me, sire, she would not 
shun death, — not even the warrior's. And yet I 
hold her a true woman. But you class them 
all as one, and make no allowance for varying 
types. Were we half as good and kind as 
they are, much that Ida claims as her due 
would never be questioned." 

" IS'ay, nay, you speak but sense," said King 
Gama. "We remember love ourself in our 
sweet youth. You talk almost like Ida herself; 
and she can talk. Yes, there's something in 
what you say, and we esteem you for it." Then 
turning to the King, " He seems a gracious and 
gallant Prince. I would he had our daughter." 
He spoke on indulgently of the invasion and of 
his detention in the invader's camp, and lightly 
excused his neighbor for the trespass because 
of the provocation he had received. " But let 
your Prince," at last he said, " ride with us to 
our lines. Our royal word for it he comes 



The Princess. 125 

back safely. We will speak with Arac. His 
influence is more powerful than ours. Some- 
thing may thus be done. And you also," he 
said to Cyril and Florian, "follow us, if you 
will." 

He bade farewell then to the Prince's father, 
who growled an answer in his beard, which let 
just enough out to give them leave to go. 

They rode forth across the fields beneath 
huge trees where the birds piped amorously, 
and touched by their songs the Prince was led 
to pour his own passion into the ear of King 
Gama, who promised help and made many a 
kindly answer to the Prince's warm words. 
But they soon came within sight of Prince 
Arac's forces, who were advancing in warlike 
squadrons to meet them. A cry of greeting to 
the King went up as he approached, and then 
the army halted amid a great clashing of arms 
and neighing of horses. The drums beat, and a 
horn blew out a long blast, and there rode out 
from the midst of the glittering ranks three 
huge warriors, the tallest and mightiest of 
whom was Arac. The Prince recognized him, 
because about his every motion there was a 
shadow of his sister Ida. 

When the Prince beheld this martial sight 
his desire for peace turned to a stirring impulse 
for war ; but the King drew close to his three 

11* 



126 Tales from Ten Poets. 

huge sons, and, now pointing this way and now 
that, told them all that had happened. They 
smiled as he spoke of the Prince's disguise, and 
the giant Arac burst into a roar of laughter as 
he rode up to him. 

"But how is this, Prince? what does this 
mean ? Our land invaded, our father taken cap- 
tive, and yet no war ! I care not in truth 
whether there be war or not ; but then this 
question of your troth. She's honest at heart, 
believe me, but she flies too high, she flies too 
high. Sweet enough to those she loves, though. 
But I still stand on her side. She made me 
swear it with solemn rites by candle-light. I 
swore by St. something, I forget what, but I 
swore, and there's an end. She will not wed ; 
so waive your claim, or, else, war, with or with- 
out my father's consent." 

The Prince hesitated, desiring to achieve his 
purpose by peaceful means, and so the likelier 
gain his bride, but one of the stalwart brothers 
whispered audibly, — 

" I thought as much : the woman's skirt hid a 
woman's heart." 

This taunt was more than Cyril's impetu- 
ous nature could endure. He flung back some 
piercing and bitter words, and the Prince an- 
swered hotly, — 

" Decide it here, then. We are three to three." 



The Princess. 127 

"But only three to three?" said the third 
brother, — " no more, and in such a cause ? Every 
soldier of us waits, hungry for honor. Why not 
have fifty on a side ?" 

" As you will," said the Prince. " Eut it must 
be solely for honor, since if we win we are no 
nearer to securing her than if we fail. She 
would not keep her compact the more readily." 

"'Sdeath," said Arac, "but we will send her 
potent reasons for biding by the issue. Let our 
messenger go through, and you shall have her 
answer before we begin." 

"Boys!" shrieked the old King in terror, 
but his appeal was in vain. No one regarded 
him. 

The Prince, with Florian and Cyril, rode back 
to the camp, and found that his father had 
thrice sent a herald to Ida's gates to learn if 
she would acknowledge his claim. The first 
time there was no response. The next time he 
was warned away by an awful voice within. 
The third time the eight monstrous plough- 
women sallied forth and belabored him roundly. 
But when the Prince told the King that he was 
pledged to fight for his bride in tourney, he 
clashed the royal hands together with a cry, 
and vowed he would himself fight it out with 
the lads. But, overborne by wiser counsels, he 
yielded sullenly, while many a knight started 



128 Tales from Ten Poets. 

up and swore to do combat for the Prince's claim 
while life lasted. 

The field whereon the camp lay ran up to 
Ida's very palace-walls, above which rose pol- 
ished columns and great bronzes of exalted 
women that overlooked the marble stairways 
within. Here, the whole morning long, the 
lists were hammered up, while heralds went to 
and fro with messages from the opposing hosts. 
At last Ida's answer came. It was written in a 
royal hand, which trembled here and there in 
spite of her resolution. The Prince kissed it 
and read it aloud to the King. 

It told of Ida's ambitions and ideals, and how 
they had been thwarted by a troop of saucy 
boys, who stole in masked like her own maidens, 
blustering insolence and love, and making claims 
upon her because of some old compact which 
she herself had never set her hand to. She 
assented to the trial by martial combat, and 
urged her brother Arac to fight manfully, for 
he was in the right, but not to kill the Prince, 
because he had once risked his life for hers. 
Then, in a postscript written across the rest, 
she warned him against treason in his camp, 
and spoke of Psyche's child as her chiefest 
comfort in her own nest of traitors. She took 
it, she said, into her own bed for an hour that 
morning, and the tender little orphan hands 



The Princess. 129 

felt at her heart and charmed away the wrath 
that burned there against the world. 

This was all the letter said, and when he 
had heard it the King muttered, — 

" Stubborn, but yet fit to breed up warriors. 
This Gama has lost all his power by lazy toler- 
ance, and she has taken the helm. But she's 
yet a colt ; take her and break her, boy ! Besides, 
they say she's comely. Well, I like her none 
the less for her hardihood. A lusty pair of 
twins would cure her folly. The bearing of 
children is the wisdom of a woman." 

The Prince paid little heed to the hard old 
King, but took his leave and pored over the let- 
ter line by line, but chiefly over the few words 
which asked Arac to spare his life. He mused 
again upon his morning in the wood, when the 
leaves sung, " Follow, follow, thou shalt win." 
And then he remembered the sorcerer's curse, 
that one of his race should fall fighting shadows, 
and like a flash his seizure was again upon him. 
All things around him turned to shadow, and 
he seemed to move in olden tilts doing battle 
with ghosts. 

When he had partly emerged from his wak- 
ing dream it was noon, and the lists were ready. 
He put on his armor with all haste, and entered 
the arena with the rest. Fifty were there 
opposed to fifty. Then the trumpet sounded 
l.—i 



130 ' Tales from Ten Poets. 

twice at the barrier, and the combat began. 
There was a storm of beating hoofs, and the 
riders, front to front, dashed upon one another 
with thunderous clang of steel and splintered 
weapons. Yet to the Prince it all somehow 
seemed only a dream he had dreamed. The steed 
rose on his haunches ; the lance shivered in the 
iron hand ; sparks flew from the smitten helmets, 
and part of the noble company sat like rocks, 
while part reeled and fell to the earth, only to 
rise again with drawn swords and unconquer- 
able prowess. 

Arac, with the twin brothers by his side, 
rained down a shower of mighty blows as here 
and there he rode, lord of the lists. The whole 
plain rang like a beaten anvil, so fierce and so 
ceaseless were his strokes. 

The Prince marvelled that such might should 
spring from the loins of the King, dwarfish 
Gama; and then, glancing aside, he saw the 
palace front alive with fluttering scarfs and 
groups of women perched in its marble niches ; 
but highest of all, standing like a statue among 
the statues, he saw Ida watching them, with 
Psyche's babe in her sternly folded arms. A 
single band of gold was about her hair like a 
saint's glory, but from her eyes shone an inexor- 
able light, too cruel for saintship. He thought, 
as he gazed an instant upon her, — 



The Princess. 131 

"Yet, for all that, she sees me fight. What 
if she saw me fall ?" 

With this he pressed among the thickest of 
the warfare and bore down a prince, and Cjrril 
fighting by his side slew another. Then Arac, 
with a malignant grin upon his face, made at 
the Prince, and all gave way before him as 
he approached, — all but Florian, who, loving 
his royal friend better than his own right 
eye, thrust in between them. But Arac rode 
him down. Then Cyril, seeing this, pushed in 
against the Prince, wearing Psyche's color on 
his helmet. He was tough and supple and apt 
at arms, but Arac was stronger and tougher, 
and he threw him at one stroke of the lance. 

Then the Prince spurred on and felt his veins 
stretch with a fierce heat. It was but a mo- 
ment hand to hand. The Prince struck out and 
shouted. His blade glanced, and he grazed only 
a feather in Arac's plume. Then dream and 
truth flowed out together from his brain. Dark- 
ness closed around him, and he fell heavily, 
with jangling armor, down from his horse to 
the ground. 

After the Prince's fall the fight grew more 
and more sullen and determined. The hardier 
knights of both sides held out the longest, and 
the battle between them was grimly earnest. 



132 Tales from Ten Poets. 

There was no faltering, no slightest recoil from 
the doom which must await them. Each fought 
for mastery, and the courage of the opposing 
sides was equal. 

But at last King Gama's knights slowly 
gained the advantage, and finally the day was 
theirs. Then there went up a great cry, — 

" The Prince is slain !" 

His father heard this and ran frantically into 
the lists. He found his son, and unlaced his 
casque and grovelled in distress upon his body. 
After him went Psyche, but her sorrow for 
Aglaia eclipsed her grief for the fallen Prince. 

But Ida stood all this while on the palace 
roof with Psyche's young child in her arms, 
and sung a chant of victory. She "was in an 
ecstasy of rejoicing over the downfall of her 
foes, and her tongue gave vent to sonorous 
words of triumph, which rang above all the 
murmur of the throngs below her. 

" And now, O maids," she cried, " our sanc- 
tuary is violated, our laws are broken. Fear not 
to break them more in behoof of those who have 
done battle for our rights. Come, since we are 
vindicated, let not our heroes lie uncared for in 
their tents, but descend and proffer tender min- 
istries, that come sweet from female hands." 

With the babe still in her arms, she herself 
came down and burst open the great bronze 



The Princess. 133 

gates, and led a throng of maids, some cowled 
and some bareheaded, as it chanced, into the 
bloody lists. The Lady Blanche followed timidly 
at a distance, but Ida entered undaunted, and 
went straight to where her wounded brothers 
lay. There she knelt on one knee, resting the 
child upon the other, and pressed their hands 
and called them her deliverers and a score more 
of noble names. 

" You shall not lie in the tents, but here in our 
college," she murmured, lovingly, " and nursed 
by those you fought for and served by all our 
willing hands." 

Then, whether impelled either by such soften- 
ing contact, or likelier by chance, she moved to- 
wards the Prince. The old King rose from his 
son's side as she approached, and glared at her 
silently but with threatening aspect. But when 
she saw the youthful figure lying dishelmed and 
mute, without a motion, and cold even to her, 
she drew a sigh ; and as she raised her eyes to 
the father's haggard face and beheld his beard, 
grisly and reverend with age, all dabbled with 
his own son's blood, she shuddered and her 
mouth twitched with pain. At last she spoke, — 

" O sire, he saved my life, and my brother 
slew him for it." 

She said no more than this ; and the old King, 
in utter scorn, drew forth from the boy's neck 

12 



134 Tales from Ten Poets. 

the portrait of her and the tress of her hair 
which he always wore there. 

She saw these and recognized them; and a 
day rose up out of the past into her memory 
when her mother, the Queen, cut the tress with 
many kisses, long, long before the time of Lady 
Blanche and her formal theories. Then once 
again she looked down at the Prince's pale face 
and stark, immovable form. As by a flash of 
light she seemed to recognize the bitter results, 
the vain and heartless work wrought by errant 
fancy and vague ideals. She was touched anew 
to the sense of human needs and the blessings 
of human fellowship. 

She bowed her head and set the child upon 
the ground, then she tenderly touched the 
Prince's brow. 

" O Sire," she suddenly cried, " touch him ! 
He lives; he is not dead. Come, let him be 
brought here with my brothers into our own 
palace. I will tend him like one of them. The 
thanks I owe him win me from my goal !" 

The King stooped anxiously over his son; 
and Ida, from the opposite side, bent down, 
and the two heads touched above him, mixing 
their black and gray locks like the meeting of 
evening and night. 

Psyche, too, stole nearer and nearer, till the 
babe, that lay by them unnoticed on the grass, 



The Princess. 135 

spied its mother and began to laugh and babble 
at her, and to stretch forth its innocent arms 
for a caress. 

Psyche could not resist the sweet appeal. 
She stood a little way off the group and cried, — 

'' My child ! mine, not yours ! Give me my 
child, I say !" Then she ceased, all in a tremble, 
and with a face full of piteous pleading. 

The near-by groups turned to look at her. 
Her cheek was wan with care and longing ; her 
mantle was torn and awry ; and her bodice had 
slipped its hooks and fell away from her throat ; 
but she did not heed this ' nor know it. She 
clamored on wildly again, till Ida heard, and, 
rising slowly from beside the Prince, she stood 
up silent and erect. Her glance encompassed 
the mother, the child, and the Prince. But as 
she gazed upon them, Cyril, all battered as he 
was, drew himself up on one knee and caught 
her robe to his lips. She looked down at the 
armed figure sidewise, insensibly or half in pity ; 
but when she saw his face, the memory of his 
ribald song darkened her brow, and she arose 
above him to all her majestic height, tall as a 
shadow lengthened out upon the sand. 

" O fair and terrible !" he said. " But Love 
and l!^ature, are not they stronger and more 
terrible? Your foot is on our necks, lady. 
You have conquered. What more would you 



136 Tales from Ten Poets. 

have? Give her the child!" He railed long 
and boldly against her hardness, which shut oat 
love, and at last, " Or if you scorn," he said, 
"to hand it to her yourself, or speak to one 
who owns to the fault of tenderness, then give 
it to me. /will give it to her!" 

At first the Princess listened with haughty 
disdain, but her humor changed as he spoke, 
and at length she took up the child and called 
it by a score of endearing names. 

" Farewell," she said to it at last. " These men 
are as unjust to us as they always were ; and 
we two must part, my little one. Yet I was 
fain to think thy cause might be one with mine, 
that I might be something to thee in the years 
to come." Here she kissed it, then, — 

" All good go with thee ! Take it, sir," and 
so laid the soft infant in Cyril's mailed hands. 

He turned half round to Psyche as she sprang 
to meet it with eyes that spoke untold thanks, and 
she took it and mouthed it, and pressed it madly 
to her bosom, and then, afterwards, she grew 
calm, and said in supplicating tones to Ida, — 

" We two were friends. I am going back to 
my own land. I was not fit for the great things 
you planned. Yet say one soft word to me and 
let us part forever." 

The Princess said nothing, but gazed raptly 
upon the child. 



The Princess. 137 

" Ida ! 'sdeath !" exclaimed Arac, " you blame 
the men ; but who is so hard upon woman as 
woman? Come, a grace to me! I am your 
warrior. We have fought your battle, now kiss 
her ; take her hand. See, she is weeping. I'd 
sooner fight thrice over than see her weep." 

Still Ida said nothing. But King Gama, 
moved beyond his custom, cried, — 

" I've heard there is iron in the blood, and 
now I believe it. Not one word ? Not a single 
one? Where did you get this hard temper? 
Not, I swear, from me. Not from your mother, 
either, for she said you had a heart— I heard 
her say it just as she died: 'Our Ida has a 
heart, but see that some one be near her with 
authority.' I brought you the Lady Blanche, 
and what did it profit you ? And, now, not a 
word?" He chided her roundly for her whims 
that had cost so much good life, for her ingrati- 
tude to him who had yielded so greatly, for her 
fickle liking, which could so easily give up a 
bosom friend; and then, exasperated into un- 
wonted energy, 

" Out upon you, flint ! You love no one ; 
neither me nor your brothers, nor any one but 
your own wilful self." 

But Ida made no reply to his wrathful out- 
burst, nor spoke a word to Psyche. Her head 
bent a little, and she stood as if a relaxing lan- 

12* 



138 Tales from Ten Poets. 

guor had taken possession of all her limbs. 
Across her mouth flitted now and then the 
shadow of a smile. 

But now the Prince's father broke forth in 
mighty indignation : 

" You, whom I thought a woman ! There is 
no woman in you. Not mercy for your accom- 
plice ! Then I would not trust my boy to your 
treacherous hands. — Here," and he called his 
own attendants, " take up the Prince and carry 
him out to our tents." 

He rose from beside the prostrate figure, and 
every ear awaited the fury which should break 
upon him from those man-scourging lips. But, 
instead, Ida's whole face broke into genial 
warmth, and through glittering tears she 
looked fondly once again on her hopeless 
friend. 

" Come hither. Psyche," she cried ; " embrace 
me, quick, while the humor lasts. Be friends 
again with one whose mind changes with the 
hour. Ah, dear traitor, too-much-loved Psyche ! 
We kiss you here before these Kings in token 
of all forgiveness. We love you none the less 
that we dare not trust you." Then, turning to 
the Prince's father, she said, beseechingly, "And 
now, O sire, let me be his nurse. I will wait 
upon him as upon my own brother, so deeply 
do I feel my debt of gratitude. You and your 



The Princess. 139 

people shall have full access to him, and I will 
send our girls away till happier times. Help, 
father, brothers ! Speak to the King, soften 
him even as I am softened to feel the touch of 
nature." She wept passionately then, but the 
King made no reply. 

" Your brother, lady," said Cyril, turning to 
Psyche, " ask the Princess if you may tend on 
him, for he is wounded also." 

" Why not ?" said Ida, with a bitter smile. 
" Our laws are broken now : let him enter." 

Then others among the girls asked permission 
for their wounded friends and kinsmen, and Ida 
gave a grieved and ironical assent. 

"Yes, let it be; our laws are broken now. 
It is best so." 

" But why hesitate, your Highness, to trans- 
gress laws which you did not make ? 'Twas I 
who made these laws," said Lady Blanche. She 
turned an eye of scorn upon the faltering Head. 

Ida affected to pay no heed to her stinging 
words, but cried, in despairing fervor, — 

" Fling wide the doors ! Bring all in, friend 
and foe ; all shall be cared for in our palace and 
by ourselves." She turned to go, her whole face 
suffused with hot indignation. 

But Arac went up to her with roughly sooth- 
ing words, and her father, the King, strove to 
console her with his aged tenderness. The 



140 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Prince's father, also, at last gave her his hand, 
and they were reconciled by the side of the 
fallen Prince. 

Then the woundect were lifted up and borne 
into the palace hall, amid the astonished whis- 
pers of the pupils and the rustle of their silken 
attire. Ida took her station at the farther end, 
her two tame leopards crouched at her feet ; but 
in the centre of the great hall the common sol- 
diers paused with wondering eyes, amazed by 
its magnificence, and by the throngs of girls in 
the gay college vestments. The girls, in turn, 
stared wide with wonder at the unaccustomed 
entry of men in their midst, and all was silent, 
save for the hum of surprise or the occasional 
jangle of some piece of armor. 

Then through the hush the voice of the Prin- 
cess sounded, giving orders for the bestowal of 
the maimed warriors; and they carried the 
Prince up the stairs and through long galleries 
to a fair chamber shut out from sound and in- 
trusion. There they left him ; and all the day 
through he could hear dull echoes from the 
ground without of the departing chariots which 
bore away the maidens. But enough of the 
worthiest of the pupils stayed behind to nurse 
the sick, and these with the great lords from 
either host beside the walls paced freely out 
and in at their will in mingled converse and 



The Princess. 141 

kindly ministrations. Thus was the sanctuary 
violated and the palace turned into a hospital. 
At first all was confusion, but day by day order 
was restored, and everywhere the low voices of 
the girls and their tender hands cherished the 
wounded knights. They talked and sang and 
read and went to and fro all day long with 
friendly and soothing offices, distributing flowers 
or books, like creatures who were in their own 
true element. 

But Ida was sad. She hated her weakness, 
and mourned that her old studies were no longer 
possible. She spoke seldom, but gazed alone 
for hours together, and brooded over the disas- 
trous siege which had brought such swarms of 
men to her virgin threshold. Her hopes were 
thwarted, her mission was useless, and the 
whole world seemed darkened by her disaster. 

From such profitless brooding at last she 
came down and took her post among the busy 
maidens, and found peace once more in work. 

But the Prince lay unconscious for many days. 
He did not know whose hands were nursing him, 
nor did he heed the whispered talk that anx- 
iously murmured across his pillow. 

Psyche tended on Florian, and Melissa was 
much with her, for the Lady Blanche had gone 
away and left her daughter, willing that she 
should keep the favor of the court. Florian 



142 Tales from Ten Poets. 

looked with all the longing of a convalescent 
for the daily appearance of the small, bright 
head between the parted silks of his couch, and 
he found her blush and smile a medicine in 
themselves. He rose up before long quite 
whole and well, and under Melissa's guidance 
learned to help those of his fellow-warriors who 
were still bedridden. What wonder, then, that 
two hearts so inclined to each other, and so 
employed, should close in love ? 

But though Blanche had sworn that after 
their night alone in the open fields Psyche must 
needs wed Cyril to keep her own good name, 
yet the match did not prosper. Cyril plied her 
with references to the babe restored by him, and 
wooed her valiantly ; but she feared to incense 
the Head and would not yield. But one day 
Ida came upon them as Cyril pleaded his cause, 
and, though her face flushed a little, she passed 
on and said nothing ; and from that time they 
tacitly understood each other, and were as sat- 
isfied as if the troth had been duly plighted. 

!N^or were these the only pairs who were 
caught in the amorous entanglement. Love 
seemed to hold high carnival in the sacred halls, 
and let fly his arrows at random among men 
and maids, until every marble niche was filled 
with a wooing couple. 

King Gama and Ida's brothers did not cease 



The Frincess. 143 

to press the Prince's claim, nor did his father, 
who was now fully reconciled to her, fail to use 
constant persuasion ; but she was still obdurate, 
notwithstanding that she often sat long by the 
Prince's bedside in her daily mission of healing. 
Sometimes, too, he even caught her hand in his 
wild delirium, and after gripping it hard, he would 
fling it off, and shriek, " You are not Ida !" Then 
he would clasp it once again, and call her lov- 
ingly his Ida, and heap caressing names upon 
her, though he really knew not that it was Ida 
whom he addressed. 

She often dreaded, as she watched his wild 
gestures and listened to his raving, that he 
would lose his mind ; and the fear sometimes 
forced itself upon her, in spite of her assumed 
indifference, that he might even die. These 
feelings, ebbing and flowing day by day, broke 
gradually, but all unconsciously, the barriers of 
her grief and coldness ; and these, and the sights 
and sounds about her, the share in others' woe, 
the weary attendance, and glimpses of the hap- 
piness of new-found lovers, brought to her an 
unwonted tenderness and then an awakening 
love for him who lay at her side. 

At last the Prince awoke sane and whole, But 
pitifully weak. It was in the evening, and he 
stared dismayed at the pictured walls, not real- 
izing where he was. The figures looked to him 



144 Tales from Ten Foets. 

like a hollow show of life ; but so, likewise, did 
Ida, who sat by his bedside with her palms 
pressed close together and a dew of tears iu 
her eyes. He moved, then sighed lightly. A 
touch came at his wrist, and a tear fell upon 
his hand ; then he, too, wept for very languor 
and self-pity, and, with what strength he had, 
he fixed his eyes on her, and whispered, — 

" If you be what I think you, only some sweet 
dream, would you could fulfil yourself and be 
that Ida whom I knew ! I ask you nothing. 
Only, if you be a dream, Sweet Dream, be per- 
fect. I shall die to-night. Stoop down, then, 
and seem to kiss me once before I die." 

He could say no more, but lay like one in 
a trance. She turned and paused, and then 
stooped down and touched his lips with hers. 
The Prince gave a passionate cry, and caught 
her in his arms. He felt that his spirit had 
united with Ida's in that one brief kiss. Then 
he fell back, and she rose from his embrace 
glowing all over with noble shame. Her falser 
self had slipped from her like a discarded robe, 
and left what remained the lovelier for what 
had passed away. She rose, now, and glided 
forth without a single glance behind her, and 
the Prince sank back and slept unbrokenly, with 
happy dreams of love and the life that was to 
be. 



XTT ':\'6'i0 *A \ -^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^, -N A- V - / K rv^ 



DAXTE GABRIEL ROSSKTri. 



ROSE MARY. 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 



I.— G k 13 



ROSE MARY. 



I. 

" Come hither, Mary mine. Leave the garden- 
close now, and sit by me. The sun is sinking, and 
the stars are beginning to twinkle. Come, you 
shall read them once more in the beryl-stone." 

Saying this, the aged dame, Eose Mary's 
mother, unbound her girdle and drew forth 
from the folds of her robe a sphere of trans- 
parent stone, shot through with shadows and 
touched with hovering rainbow tints. It was, in 
truth, a miniature world, reflecting in its glassy 
depths whatever of the great world about came 
within the circle of its radiance. But to one 
pure enough to see it showed more than this, 
for it held in its glowing circumference the 
unknown as well as the known; the whole 
future, as well as the passing hour. 

For a thousand years, so went the tale, this 
globe of beryl had lain in the ocean with a 
treasure wrecked from a Thessalian bark. It 
had cost a human life to bring it back to earth, 
and thus sanctified it gained magical properties ; 

147 



148 Tales from Ten Poets. 

so that now, as Eose Mary's lady mother held it 
out to her, it had a wondrous light about it and 
shone very strangely through the thick and 
twilit leaves of the garden. 

" Come," she repeated, " you may read the stars 
if you will, or follow your knight Sir James of 
Heronhaye as he rides to Holy Cross to-morrow." 

At this name Eose Mary turned from her 
flowers and hurried into the chamber where her 
mother sat. 

" May I see him truly, mother ?" she said, and 
knelt at the lady's side with eager hands 
stretched out for the stone. 

But her mother's face saddened as she put 
back her fair daughter's dark locks and looked 
caressingly into her face. 

" Yes, truly, my child," she said. " He rides 
away to do penance before he takes you to the 
altar ; but there is evil news to tell. Be strong 
now, and here is our help." And she pointed to 
the beryl where it lay in her lap. 

" Now listen," she resumed. " On the road Sir 
James must take there is an ambush waiting to 
attack him ; but he will go in spite of all dan- 
ger, and will go alone. No one knows where 
the foe really lurks, but here in the beryl you 
may read all things." 

Again Eose Mary reached for the stone ; but 
her mother restrained her. 



Rose Mary. 149 

" No, not yet. Listen ! All last night I made 
sacrifice and strove in prayer at the altar. The 
flame paled in the sunrise, and I performed every 
needful rite. Now, nothing is lacking but the 
eyes of a pure and innocent soul. Look, then, 
my Rose, and read his fate !" 

" But, mother, if I should not see ?" 

" No, no ; uncover your face, child. Love will 
teach you to see as you have always seen." 

Eose Mary's cheeks grew deadly pale as her 
gray eyes sought the beryl-stone. She leaned 
over her mother's lap and passionately stretched 
her throat, sighing from her very soul, as she 
said, "I see !" Then they were both aware of a 
faint music in the chamber, but there was no 
time to think upon the marvel, though it deli- 
ciously lulled their straining senses. 

The lady held the sphere upon her knee. 

"Lean this way and speak low," she said, 
" and speak of nothing but what you see." 

Eose Mary gazed upon the stone with fixed 
and staring eyes : 

" I see a man with a great broom sweeping 
away the dust." 

" Yes, that is always first. But now look well. 
What comes next ?" 

" I see two roads stretching away and part- 
ing in a waste country. Deep glens and tall 
ridges lie along their sides, and a hill walls in 

13* 



150 Tales from Ten Poets. 

the valley. One road follows the brook, and 
the other goes across the moor." 

"Both go to Holy Cross, daughter. But 
what of the valley road? He must go that 
way." 

" It runs past me like the turning leaves of a 
book." 

" Look everywhere for a spear. They will 
lie close till he approaches." 

" The stream has spread out to a river, with 
stiff blue reeds and bare banks." 

" Is there any roof near to shelter a hidden 
band?" 

" Yes ; on the farther bank there is a single 
one, and a herdsman unyokes his team there in 
the twilight." 

" Keep watch by the water's edge ; some boat 
may lurk there." 

" One has just slid out from the winding shore, 
but a peasant woman is at the oars and a child 

is steering. But, there ! something sparkled 

No, it was only a lapwing." 

Then Eose Mary, growing weary of the search 
and succumbing to the intense strain of eye and 
nerve, drew back and cried, — 

" It is all in vain ! I have missed them, and 
they will kill him, they will kill him !" 

*' For dear love's sake speak low," said the 
mother. 



Rose Mary. 151 

" My eyes are strained to the goal, but, oh, 
the voice within me!" cried Eose Mary, in 
lowered tones. 

" Hush, sweet, hush. Be calm and search the 
stone," whispered the lady again. 

" I see two old and broken floodgates," re- 
sumed Eose Mary. " Grasses wave along the 
weir, but the bridge still leads to the break- 
water. And mother!" she almost shrieked in 
her dread, and clung close to her mother's knee, 
crouching low while her hair fell across her 
eyes, then she whispered, fearfully, " The spears 
are there !" 

The lady stooped and cleared the locks from 
her daughter's face. " So much yet to see, and 
she has swooned," she wailed; then, smooth- 
ing the girl's fair brow, she lifted her up. 
" Look, look, sweet !" she pleaded. " An image 
comes but once to the beryl. Do you see the 
same place ?" 

Eose Mary wearily opened her eyes and 
gazed again into the stone. 

" I see eight men," she languidly murmured. 
" The weir is covered with a wild growth, and 
they are hidden by the water-gate. They lie 
about as if they had a long while to stay. The 
chief's lance has a blazoned scroll. He seems 
some lord. I cannot trace the blazon. Yes, 
there, now — I can see the field of blue and the 



152 Tales from Ten Poets. 

spurs and merlins in pairs. It is the Warden 
of Holycleugh." 

" God be thanked !" said the mother. " We 
know now. It is your good knight's mortal 
enemy. Last Shrovetide, in the tourney, he 
strove to take his life by treason, and now he 
tries, again. So, my lord," she continued, bitterly, 
" we know you now. You will watch till morn- 
ing? June's a fair month, and the moon is 
full. St. Judas send you a merry night at 
Warisweir." 

Then she bent low again over her daughter, 
who had sunk across her knees. 

" Now, sweet," she said, " only one more look 
and you may lie soft in bed. We know what 
perils are in the valley. Now look over the 
hills and see if the road is free there." 

Eose Mary reached up and pressed her cheek 
against her mother's, and she almost smiled, but 
said nothing. Then she turned again to the 
shadowy glass. 

" The broom again," she began. " I stand once 
more where the roads part. The hill-side is 
clear, but the river lies like a thread in the val- 
ley. The waste land runs by very swiftly, and 
I see nothing but heath and sky. There's not a 
break for a spear to hide in ; nothing, nothing 
to fear." 

She gazed on intently for some time without 



Rose Mary. 153 

speaking, but again she began : " Over there 
rise the heights of Holycleugh. Where the 
road leads up to the castle there are seven wide 
and deep clefts. I can see into six, but the 
seventh is brimmed with mist. If there was 
anything there I could not see it." 

" Little hope, my girl, for a helm to be hidden 
in the moorland mists. They melt with every 
wind." 

" The road winds and winds," resumed Eose 
Mary, " and the great walls come nearer and 
nearer." 

" Enough," said her mother, and she took the 
bending head to her bosom. " Eest, poor head," 
she lovingly murmured. " We are done now, 
and know all that is needed." 

Then, as she wrapped the beryl-stone in her 
robe again, she looked fondly at it, and watched 
the flickering shadows course through its glassy 
depths as if it still pulsed with the vibrations 
of the spell. 

As it slid into its silken case, a strange music 
drifted once more across the room and died 
away like a light laughter. 

But Eose Mary had heard nothing of it. She 
lay in a deep slumber upon her mother's knee, 
who presently arose and lifted her tenderly into 
the chair, where she sank with a broken moan 
into heavy sleep. 



154 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Then her mother went out to bear the news 
to Sir James of Heronhaye and warn him of 
his danger. 

Eose Mary slept long and soundly, but at last 
she raised her head and rose up bewildered. 
She searched her brain as for something that 
had vanished, and then clasped her brows, as a 
sudden burst of remembrance came upon her. 
She knelt and lifted her eyes in awe, and gave 
a long, sweet sigh : 

" Thank God that I saw !" 

But Eose Mary's mother, after she had spoken 
with the knight, climbed a secret stairway and 
knelt at a carven altar, where she laid, at last, 
the precious beryl. It was engraved with mystic 
characters in a dead tongue, which a priest of the 
Holy Sepulchre had interpreted to her lord, who 
had brought it home to her from the crusades 
as a curious gift. 

As she turned away from the altar where it 
reposed she murmured the words of its charm. 
" None sees here but the pure," and then, with 
all a mother's fondness in her voice, "And what 
rose in Mary's bower is purer than my own 
sweet Eose Mary?" 

II. 

The days passed slowly in Eose Mary's bower, 
for she was anxious to hear from her wandering 



Rose Mary. 155 

knight. He had set out gravely enough on his 
holy errand, but he laughed a defiance at his 
enemies as he bade her adieu. Yet she was 
disquieted by his long absence, and feared the 
warning in the beryl might have been in vain. 

On the third day, as she sat musing in her 
chamber, her mother came up to her and touched 
her with a caress which had so much of pity in 
it that she was startled to her feet. 

"What has happened?" she cried. "Is he 
wounded ? Is he here ?" And she started to- 
wards the stair. 

Her mother detained her and drew her down 
to the stone seat beside her. 

" Oh, my Eose," said her mother, " what shall 
be done with the rose which Mary weeps on ? 
what shall be done with the cankered flower ?" 

" Let it fall from the tree, mother, and wait 
for the night. Let it hide its shame before the 
new day comes." And the girl hid her fair face 
with passionate tears in her mother's lap. 

The lady rose then and softly lifted her child 
to her side. With a supporting arm around 
her she led her drooping into the midst of the 
room. 

" Come, my heart," she said ; " it is time for us 
to go. This is the sad hour foretold in the 
troubled nights. Yet keep in good cheer, for 
you have a mate in your shame who will not 



156 Tales from Ten Poets. 

leave you. There will be peace at last, if we 
love each other." 

But the fair girl cried piteously upon her 
knight. 

" 'Twas for love alone," she said, " and the re- 
pentant heart has made bitter atonement. 'Tis 
only three days to wait, mother, and he returns 
to me. Where may I go till he brings me back 
a bride ? for they will all know me for the thing 
I am." 

Then the pent-up tears came welling from the 
lady's eyes, and both stood weeping together. 

" Oh, daughter," she said amid her sobs, " how 
could you deceive me ? Your heart held fast its 
secret and I knew nothing." 

" And yet," said Eose Mary, " how came you 
to know, mother ? Did the beryl read you my 
heart ?" 

" The beryl has no voice for me," her mother 
answered ; " but it told you a false tale, because 
none but the pure may read the truth." 

Her hand lay close to Eose Mary's heart, and 
she could feel its sudden bound of fear. 

"Mother!" she cried, "but still I saw." 

" Yet why did you keep your heart hidden 
from me ? for I told you that sin must cast out 
the spirits of grace from the stone. Oh, my 
Eose, it veils the truth to such as do not ques- 
tion with sinless hearts !" 



Bose Mary. 157 

Eose Mary sat like a stone and said not a 
word, though her mother tried to clasp her in 
a close embrace to avoid looking in her despair- 
ing eyes. 

Then, with one great sob, the daughter asked, 
pleadingly, " Where is he?" 

"He is here," said the lady, with a trembling 
voice. " His horse came riderless this morning, 
and now he lies within." 

Eose Mary gave a wild cry and fell into her 
mother's arms. 

" The cloud on the hills by Holycleugh, daugh. 
ter," she said, — " it was there they lurked, not 
in the vale : that was the beryl's deception. 
They brought him home from the hill-side to- 
day." 

Eose Mary sprang up as if some mortal agony 
had shot through her. She shrieked once, and 
then, overcome, sank down to the ground. Her 
face lay pallid white on her dark hair, and she 
looked so far spent that her mother leaned down 
and listened at her heart. Then she wildly 
kissed her and called her name, but there was 
no response ; and she rose quickly, slid back a 
secret door in the wall, and ascended the stair 
within. 

Above, where the altar was, a little fountain 
played, and she filled a flask with water and 
hurried back to Eose Mary, sprinkling her breast 

14 



158 Tales from Ten Poets. 

anJi brow. There was not a trace of color in 
her cheeks, nor a perceptible breath from her 
lips, and yet something seemed to tell that life 
was still there. 

" Ah !" sighed the lady, " the body does not 
die with the heart." And she wrung her hands 
and hid her face, wondering how she could ever 
meet again the poor girl's woful eyes. Then 
she began to think of calling help, and she re- 
membered the priest who J3rayed there by the 
dead man's side. She rose and sped down all 
the winding stairs to the castle hall. As she 
passed the loopholes in the thick walls, she 
looked out upon the long-known valley and the 
familiar woods and brooks, but they seemed 
to her only like the threads of some broken 
dream. 

The hall was full of the retainers of the castlo 
when she entered. The women wept and the 
men were broodingly silent. As the lady crossed 
the rush-covered floor the throng fell back, 
murmuring, about the open door-ways. A 
strange shadow seemed to hang upon every- 
thing, for the slain knight lay there in the 
midst of the hall, on the ingle-bench. 

A priest who had passed by Holycleugh early 
in the day had brought the tidings, and he had 
guided back to the place those who had brought 
the bier; but since the hour of his return he 



Rose Mary. 159 

had knelt in prayer by the knight's side. Word 
had gone also to his own castle that Sir James 
of Heronhaye was slain, and the spears would 
doubtless gather soon to track down the foe; 
but, for the time, all was mourning and silence. 
As the lady's step came near, the priest looked up. 

" Father," she said, " this surely is a grievous 
thing; but my daughter, — she lies above in a 
swoon. Go to the topmost chamber as you 
mount the stairs. Let your words, not mine, 
be the first she hears when she awakens. Go 
quickly, and I will come in a little while." 
Then she knelt on the hearth, motioning every 
one away from the threshold, and gazed alone in 
the dead man's face. 

The fight for life had been desperate, for it 
showed still in the clinched lips and hard-set 
teeth; nor had the wrath quite passed away 
from the bent brow and stern eyes. The bla- 
zoned coat was rent in the golden field across 
his breast, and in his hand he yet held the hilt 
of his shivered sword. 

The lady seemed not to heed the body, but 
spoke fondly to the departed soul. There was a 
light of pity and love in her steadfast eyes that 
seemed to render them capable of seeing the 
invisible. 

" By your death I have learnt of your sinful 
deed, Sir James of Heronhaye. You have done 



160 Tales from Ten Poets, 

me and mine a great wrong, and God has sent 
you this doom for a lesson. It was ordained 
you were not to gain your shrift in life ; but 
may death shrive your soul and purify you. 
Ah, I know how well you loved her !" 

But before she pressed her lips to his brow, 
as she started to do, she saw a little packet half 
hid where his mail-coat was broken at the breast. 
It lay on his open bosom beneath the surcoat. 
A heavy clot hung round it, and a faintness 
came over her as she drew it away. The billet 
was steeped in the blood from his heart, and fast 
to it was glued an embroidered fragment of his 
blazon. 

She gazed long on the thing with a pitying 
look. "Alas! alas! some pledge of dear Eose 
Mary's," she murmured. 

Then she opened it carefully. The blood was 
stiff upon it, and it would scarcely come apart. 
She found only a folded paper, but around it 
was wound a long tress of golden hair. 

As she turned the paper over, she dimly saw 
the dark face above in its swoon. It was as if a 
snake had crept near and stung her daughter 
to death. With a shaking hand she loosed the 
thread of bright hair, and then undid the folded 
paper ; and that, too, trembled in her hold so 
that she could scarce read or understand its 
quivering lines. 



Rose Mary. 161 

" My heart's sweet lord," it said, " at Holy 
Cross, in eight days, I seek my shrift, and there 
I would meet you, if you will, on the like errand. 
At the same time my brother rides from Holy- 
cleugh and will be long absent. We can be safe 
then, and our love will be undisturbed. Until 
we meet I send you a tress for remembrance 
wound around these words ; so, eight days 
hence, may our loves be twined together, is the 
wish of my lord's poor lady, Jocelind." 

Eose Mary's mother read the missive twice 
over with a distraught and wandering mind. 
She could not realize its meaning. But at last 
it broke in upon her. Her head sunk low down 
upon her hands, and she cried, " Oh, God ! the 
sister of the Warden of Holycleugh !" 

She rose upright then, with a long moan, 
and stared in the dead Knight's face. Had it 
actually lived ? She could scarce tell. It was a 
mask for the blackness of guilt. 

She raised high up the golden tress of hair 
and struck the cold lips with it, then let it rest 
upon them. 

" Here's gold to pay your way to Satan," she 
said, sternly. " Your treason has justly found its 
goal!" 

She turned, half conscious of a voice that 
called her, and looked upward. On a row of 
fair and lofty columns a high court ran around 
I.— ^ 14* 



162 Tales from Ten Poets. 

the castle hall, and from there the priest spoke 
to her. 

" I have looked for your child everywhere, 
but she cannot be found." 

" Fear nothing," she replied ; " she is not far 
away. But come with me, and we will look for 
her." 

She reached the stair and tottered upward. 

" Death's face," she murmured to herself, " is 
hard to look upon, but, oh, Eose Mary, how 
shall I look into your living face ?" 

III. 

EosE Mary lay for a long time unconscious in 
her chamber while her mother sought the priest 
below ; but at last she emerged from the swoon, 
and a dawn of light seemed to break upon her 
bewildered eyes. She looked around her, dazed 
at the sight of familiar things, and her lips were 
hard and dry. She remembered what had hap- 
pened only as one remembers a vague and 
troubled dream ; but her mother's and her 
lover's names came to her lips, and she uttered 
them with a dread she could not explain. 

Breathing heavily with the exertion, she got 
up from the floor and dragged herself to the 
secret panel, which still stood open as her mother 
had unconsciously left it. She went through 
the opening, then closed the door and stood in 



Rose Mary. 163 

the dark upon the stone stairway. But her 
eyes were more at ease in the shadow, and she 
mounted without difficulty. She had never 
known of this secret stairway, but she was not 
greatly surprised at its existence, as all ways 
were alike strange to her now. Once she thought 
she heard her name called from some inner 
place, and she paused to listen, but could not 
tell where the sound came from. A faint ray 
of light fell down the dark stairway at her feet, 
and this guided her at last into the chamber 
where the altar was. 

There was no change in her face as she leaned 
an instant against the open door-way and then 
passed on to the pillar within. The room had 
a dimly-lit dome, overhung by a veil, at the pole- 
points of which were symbols of the elements : 
air, water, fire, and earth. On the north side 
there was pictured a running fountain, at the 
south a red fruit-tree ; the eastern point had a 
lamp burning brightly, and to the west there 
was a crystal casket holding within it a cloud. 
The painted walls symbolized the ebb and flow 
of Time, who held in his hands the key of his 
hoards and his all-conquering wheel. 

Eose Mary paid little heed to all this ; but 
she stepped forward presently with a weary 
face, and lifted the altar-veil aside. The altar 
was in the form of the coiling serpent which 



164 Tales from Ten Poets. 

old lore has placed deep in the earth's heart 
awaiting the final Voice. An open book lay 
spread upon the altar, and some tapers burned 
about it. But between the sculptured wings 
of a strange beast Rose Mary saw the beryl- 
stone. 

The dread sight of this talisman brought back 
to her all the woful past. The hours and min- 
utes seemed to whirr by her in a deafening 
swarm, and in the tumult the forms of death 
and sorrow and shame trod near her. She 
saw them circle through the stone with mock- 
ing faces, and then the mystic lights faded, and 
once again she awakened into full consciousness 
with a pitiful cry. 

She took three slow steps through the altar 
gate, and drew up her body straight and 
tall. The sinews of her arms stood forth in 
hardened lines, and her face was deadly white 
amid her dark hair. She was possessed with 
a passionate hatred of the thing which lay 
shining there before her. 

A dinted helm and sword hung above the 
altar, for her father had won by their vaUant 
use the magic gift which he had brought back 
from Palestine. 

Eose Mary moved across and reached down 
her father's sword, but she never took her eyes 
from the beryl, and still gazing she spoke to it : 



Rose Mary. 165 

" O three times accurst, ye who inhabit this 
stone ! Ye came in by the might of a great 
guilt, but a weak sinner's hand will drive you 
out to-day. A clear voice has told me this, and 
that I shall expire with you. Oh, may God 
save my parting soul!" 

Then she drew a deep breath, and with 
tender words besought her lover to meet her 
when she had wrought them both forgiveness 
by the destruction of the fatal sphere. Her 
eyes grew soft as she spoke, and a smile half 
trembled on her lips; but the frown of hate 
came back as she glanced again at the beryl, 
and she swung aloft with two hands the heavy 
sword. 

Then she took three backward steps. 

"For your sake, love, and for God's!" she 
exclaimed, and the blade flashed and fell upon 
the beryl-stone and clove it to the heart. 

A sound like thunder roared through the 
room as the deed was done, and the echoes 
reverberated far away in awful vibrations. But 
when all was still again, the beryl lay broken 
in two, the veil above was rent away from the 
dome, and the chamber was riven open to the 
sky. 

Eose Mary lay on the ground, dead. But no 
trace of the convulsion had touched her beauty. 
She seemed to rest, rather, in a gracious sleep ] 



1C6 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and over her head she still held fast the sword 
with which she had triumphed. 

Then a clear voice said in the room, — 
" Behold the end ! Come thou to me for thy 
bitter love's sake. By a sweet path thou shalt 
journey, and I will lead thee unto rest. Thy sin 
withheld me from the talisman, but thou hast 
won thy way to my home who hast now cast 
forth from it my foes." 



ZV'AvV^y. \LK\A:i.V.V\ 



WILLIAM MORRLS. 



THE LOVERS OF GUDRUN. 



WILLIAM MORRIS. 



II 



THE LOVERS OF GUDRUN. 



I. 

On the gray slopes of a valley of Iceland 
near the northern sea lay Bathstead, and across 
seven miles of open land rose the spreading 
roofs of Herdholt. There dwelt in these fair 
halls two noble families that were friends, and 
between their boundaries the broad valley was 
paven with green pastures, where browsed many 
herds of sheep and cattle, the possession of the 
lords of either hall. 

In Herdholt lived Olaf the Peacock, who took 
to wife Thorgerd, and they had five sons, who 
were lithe and of fair promise, and two daugh- 
ters ; and Bodli, called the son of Olaf 's brother, 
also dwelt with them. 

But Bathstead was the home of Oswif, whose 
wife, Thordis, bore to him five sons, stout and 
lusty lads, but with little wisdom, and a sole 
daughter, Gudrun by name, who grew by her 
father's hearthside into the spring-time of a 
perfect womanhood. 

Now, one day as Gudrun sat among the spin- 
H 15 169 



170 Tales from Ten Foets. 

ning- women in her bower at Bathstead she 
heard the sound of hoofs drawing swiftly near, 
and started up to see who came. 

" Tliat must be Guest," she said, " for this is 
the day he tarries with us in Bathstead." And 
she went to the door and opened it, and stood 
between the posts looking down towards the dis- 
tant sea. She saw below her on the slopes a 
throng of gay riders who approached at a can- 
ter, and she watched them eagerly with one 
slender hand curved for shade above her eyes. 

That year Gudrun had just come to her full 
height. She was slim and of a girlish figure, 
yet she could never hope to be fairer. She had 
golden hair which reached nearly to her knee, 
and white hands and a smooth brow safe from 
the lightest touch of time. Her lips were crossed 
now and then by a smile which betokened a 
coming danger to men, and her eyes were bluer 
than gray, but very sweet in maidenly direct- 
ness. She was clad in a lordly raiment made 
of rich stuffs from the South, and as she stood 
there in the door- way the rough world about 
her seemed by contrast to be but a rude heap 
cast up by the waves. 

But the riders drew rein now before Oswif 's 
hall. There were twelve in the company, and 
Gudrun stepped out across the grass to meet 
them. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 171 

"Welcome, Guest the Wise!" she said to 
the leader, a white-haired and venerable man, 
who wore a red suit." My father is away at 
his fishing, but he bids me pray you not to 
go by us, but bide here awhile. He says you 
and he, in the hall, are two wise men together 
who can talk cunningly about the ways of 
mankind." 

Guest laughed and leapt down from his 
horse. 

" Fair words from fair lips," said he, " and a 
goodly place to rest at ; but I must get on to 
Thickwood to-night to see my kinsman Armod. 
Yet, I'll stay an hour, and you and I will talk 
awhile." 

Then he took her hand, and she led him into 
the hall, and all his fellow-riders got d6wn from 
their horses and followed them, with a great 
clattering, through the porch ; and once within, 
they had a plentiful repast and much good wine. 

But amid the noise of drinking-horns and the 
boisterous laughter Gudrun spoke quietly to 
Guest, and he smiled cheerfully at what she 
told him. The old man's eyes grew grave 
now and again, and Gudrun seemed as if she 
scarcely knew what she was uttering. At last 
Guest was about to reach out once more for his 
tankard, but the words she spoke arrested the 
movement, and he stopped with his hand half- 



172 Tales from Ten Poets, 

way to the cup. His gray eyes stared earnestly 
at her, as if unseen things were revealed to him. 
She waited, in trembling anxiety, to hear what 
he should answer. 

" And thou liest awake at night thinking of 
these things ?" he said, in a serious and tender 
voice. 

" Yes, father Guest ; but of all my dreams four 
only give me any dread. But there's enough 
of dreams. Take your tankard and tell us 
some merry tales; this is no time for grave 
matters." 

" Speak quickly," he said, " before my glimmer 
of sight passes away. " 

Then she spoke swift words : " In my dream I 
thought I stood by a stream-side wearing a coif 
upon m/head. On a sudden I thought how 
foul that coif was, how ill it sat, and I took it 
from my head and cast it into the water." 

" Well, the second one," he said ; " hurry and 
tell me all." 

" I stood by a great water, and on my arm 
was a silver ring which much delighted me; 
but it slipped from my arm unawares and fell 
into the water." 

" This is as great a thing as the last," said 
Guest. " What next ?" 

" I was on the road near Bathstead, and had on 
my arm a gold ring. I seemed to be falling, and 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 173 

stretched my arms to steady myself, when the 
ring struck against a stone and broke in two, 
and out of the broken ends came drops of blood." 

" A bad omen," said Guest. " Now what of the 
fourth ?" 

" I dreamed I wore a helmet of gold on my 
head, and was proud of its beauty ; but yet it 
was so heavy I could scarcely hold it. Then of 
a sudden, I know not what it was, but some- 
thing unseen tore it from my brow and tossed 
it into the firth, and I mourned deeply, but my 
eyes were dry in spite of my heart." 

Gruest turned upon her with an old man's 
smile, looking keenly into her fair face, until 
she hid her eyes with her hands ; but he saw a 
blush rise through the fingers, and he sighed as 
one in sorrow. Then he told her the meaning 
of her dreams. She would have, he said, a 
stirring life, but she would outlive all the wrong 
and love that might come to her, and survive 
alone when all else had parted from her. The 
ill-fitting coif was a mismated husband, whom 
she would shake off and be freed from. The 
silver ring was another husband, who would 
part from her and be lost in the firth, as was 
his emblem, the ring. The gold ring was a 
worthier man, her third husband, whose life 
would be taken by another; and the heavy 
helm was her last mate, who would be a great 

15* 



174 Tales from Ten Poets, 

chief and hold the helm of terror over her, 
though she should love him always. 

When he had ended, Gudrun drew her hands 
away from her face and sat by his side with 
fixed eyes and pale cheeks, as one who sees 
strange inward sights. 

"Thank you, good father Guest," she said. 
" It is well ; but may you not see awry through 
these far-off years ?" 

He answered nothing, but sat still with sad- 
dened looks. Then at last he rose. 

" Wild words, wild words," he said. " But now 
it is time we were on our way." Then as she 
glanced full at him he saw a bright red spot on 
either cheek, and a firm set mouth keeping back 
her grief. 

She entreated him to wait, for her father's 
sake ; but she seemed scarcely to heed her own 
words, so distraught was she, and Guest an- 
swered that he must start at once to reach 
Thickwood before night. Then she led him 
listlessly from the hall, and he and his company 
rode away; but he turned before his fellows 
had raised the garth gate and watched her 
standing wistfully by the hall, her long shadow 
lying clear against its walls. Then when once 
outside he turned again, and shook his bridle- 
rein and cantered away. 

Guest and his company had gone but a little 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 175 

space when they beheld a man come towards 
them, who, as they drew near, greeted Guest 
with fair words, and said that Olaf Peacock 
sent greeting and would welcome him and his 
company to his hall. 

" And well you know, goodman Guest, that 
meat and drink are ever plentiful at Herdholt." 

Guest laughed : " Well, be that as it may. Get 
swiftly back and tell him I will come, but I 
must not tarry, for to-night I am to be at 
Thickwood." 

Then the man turned and whipped his horse, 
and Guest and his people rode on slowly by the 
borders of the bay until they came to a dale^ 
where they saw the gilt roof-ridge of Olaf's 
hall. 

Presently out of the garth came a goodly 
company of men, and then there passed a joy- 
ous greeting between Guest and Olaf, who rode, 
followed by their trains of well-looking horse- 
men, through the great hall gate. 

Olaf led Guest from room to room about his 
castle and showed him many marvels of curious 
workmanship ; the painted tales upon the walls 
and the fine raiment in his carven chests. At 
last he gave Guest a rich gift as he left the hall, 
and rode on with him a little way to point out 
to him his sons where they bathed by the shore. 

When they had reached a low knoll overlook- 



176 Tales from Ten Poets. 

ing the Laxriver, Olaf cried out, "There!" and 
pointed where a throng of youths sported in 
the water. 

Gruest looked off and saw the tide playing on 
a sandy bar at the stream's mouth, and the 
southwest wind brought up to his ears the echo 
of their joyous shouts. 

" Goodman," he said, " thou art lucky to have 
such a throng of sons, if they do as well on 
earth as in the water." 

" There is nothing yet to tell of their deeds," 
said Olaf; "but look! now they see us." 

One of the bathers rose waist-high and sent 
up a shrill call like a sea-mew, and all turned 
landward, beating the water to foam and 
scrambling up the shore after their clothes. 
Then the riders, saving only Guest and Olaf, 
who took a leisurely pace, rushed down the 
slope to meet the swimmers. 

" Many of them, then, are not your sons ?" 
said G-uest. 

"No; sons of dale-dwellers near-by. But 
Kiartan, my eldest, leads them all in swimming." 

" Tell me their names," said Guest. 

Then Olaf showed him Hauskuld, his youngest 
son, and Haldor and Helgi and Steinthor, and 
as this last one rose and stepped aside he 
pointed to two who sat on a gray stone near the 
stream. One was a tall youth with golden hair, 



The Lovers of Gudrun. Ill 

who held a sword on his knees half drawn from 
the sheath. The other sat on the grass in front 
of him. He was slim, black-haired, and tall, 
and looked smilingly into his companion's face 
as if listening, while one of his hands lay on 
the sword near the broad, gray blade. 

"l!^o need, friend, to ask about the others 
after seeing these," said Guest, " for without a 
word I know Kiartan, who draws the sword 
out of the sheath, and, low down in the shade, 
that is Bodli Thorleikson. But tell me about 
that sword. Who bore it?" * 

Then Olaf laughed: "Some call it accursed. 
Bodli bears it now, but it once belonged to 
Geirmund, my daughter's husband. He mar- 
ried her without my wish, but his love soon 
grew cold, and he left her, to roam abroad. He 
would not leave the sword, but she helped her- 
self to it, and in return — so the gossips say — ^got 
the curse that goes with it." 

Guest answered nothing, and seemed to brood 
inwardly over some weighty matter ; but Olaf 
cried, — 

" Wise friend, thou hast heard all the names. 
How thinkest thou ? Which shall do well in the 
years to come?" 

Guest did not turn his head, but spoke in a 
meditating voice : 

"Surely, goodman, you would be glad if 
I. — m 



178 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Kiartan had more glory while he lived than 

any other in the land." 

Then, without a word, he raised his whip, his 

horse started, and he rode swiftly away. But 

as he galloped onward he mournfully turned to 

his son Thord and spoke of many things, while 

the great tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks 

and over his white beard, for he saw the woes 

that were to be for the houses of Olaf and 

Oswif. 

II. 

Time wore on, and a part of Guest's forecast 
came true. Attracted by her beauty, a youth 
named Thorvald wooed Gudrun and won her for 
his wife ; but she found before long that the chain 
of wedlock was a galling one. She hoped daily 
for a change which never came, and began to 
look upon her husband with scorn and dislike. 
Thorvald was a coarse man, rough and passion- 
ate by nature, and little used to wait patiently 
for things to mend ; and as Gudrun came each 
morning into his presence with her melancholy 
looks, rage and resentment took possession of 
him. Gudrun was secretly glad of this ; but 
her husband could not long endure the estrange- 
ment, for he still loved her in his impetuous 
way, and he grew more and more vexed with 
her. 

One day as they sat in the hall at dinner his 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 179 

passion overcame him, and, rising suddenly from 
his seat, he cast his half-filled cup on the floor. 
Then he struck her on the face, and strode out 
of the hushed and crowded chamber. He got 
upon his horse, and, without a glance behind, 
rode away furiously over hill and moor. 

Those in the chamber turned anxious eyes on 
Gudrun to see what she would do. For a little 
while she sat silent, then she called them about 
her, and spoke gayly of this and that, like one 
freed from a weight of care. 

But Thorvald came back again in a short 
space, and she met him so changed that he 
thought his hasty blow had brought better days. 
She seemed happy enough as time passed, but 
he misdoubted her humor, and gayly went his 
way, keeping harsh thoughts aside. 

In the spring he rode out one morning to the 
court, not over-light of heart or free from fear, 
though she parted from him kindly and frankly. 
But the next day Gudrun went alone with one 
man to Bathstead, and there told her tale ; and, 
as in that time the law did not hold tight those 
who no longer loved, and as her kin were a mighty 
folk, she received her divorce, and rode speedily 
homeward. 

Once more she dwelt at Bathstead, and was 
wooed by Thord, who also won her love and 
wedded her. He was a brave and fair-looking 



180 Tales from Ten Poets. 

man, and their life was a happy one, for she 
loved him truly. She put from before her eyes 
the strange things told her by Guest, and tried 
to forget them. But, forgotten or remembered, 
fate works out its will ; and when they had lived 
together for three happy months, on a June 
night, as the southwest wind blew storm across 
Gudrun's sleeping head, her husband's body was 
tossed towards the cliffs by the angry firth. 
Eumor told that he was drowned by wizard 
spells in a summer gale. 

So back went Gudrun to Bathstead again. 
She sat many a day with a fierce heart brooding 
over her pain, for life seemed made to torture 
her ; and yet through all her woe the words of 
Guest would come constantly to her mind and 
quicken her into consoling thoughts. 

The months wore on and spring arrived with 
its unspoken longings, and now Kiartan's name 
began to be heard on every man's tongue, for 
his deeds of prowess grew famous through the 
land. He was too noble to excite envy, and 
his fairness of face and limb was a wonder to 
look upon. He was leader in every game of 
strength and swiftness, he knew the craft of the 
smithy, and in speech he was most wise, and 
very gentle, so that all the little children loved 
him. 

But while others praised Kiartan, Gudrun sat 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 181 

apart, brooding on her lost days of happiness 
and thinking how worthless such fame as Kiar- 
tan's was. 

Then, when midsummer was drawing near, 
one evening as the household sat in the hall, 
they heard one voice call to another far away in 
the valley, and afterwards the sound of approach- 
ing hoofs. Oswif rose and went into the porch, 
and greeted the travellers as they arrived at his 
threshold; but Gudrun sat alone on the high 
dais when all were gone out into the porch, 
and played unconsciously with her finger-rings, 
musing on her one day-long theme. 

Presently all the company began to come back 
again, and she turned towards their voices in 
spite of her melancholy. They brought lighted 
torches in, and laughed loudly as they entered. 
Then as the guests came down the long hall 
she knew Olaf the Peacock, who was hand in 
hand with her father. Behind them came two 
young men, and she began against her will to 
recall the tales told of Kiartan, because she 
thought the one with the hair which shone gold 
in the torch-gleam was he, and that the black- 
haired and high-browed one must be Bodli. 

By that time they came up to where she sat, 
and she felt vexed that she must rise to wel- 
come them. Then Olaf took her hand and 
looked at her compassionately. 

16 



182 Tales from Ten Poets. 

" Sweet Gudrun," he said, " I know your fate 
has been ill, but better days will surely come by 
and by. Believe me, not for nothing do eyes 
like yours shine upon the hard world. You will 
bless us yet, and all your woes will be forgot- 
ten." 

She made no answer, but drew away her hand, 
and felt her grief grow deeper still that men 
should thus speak to her. But, turning around, 
she saw Kiartan gazing upon her with hungry 
eyes and parted lips. A strange joy entered 
her listless heart, and in an instant her old world 
was all changed. Before she could reflect on 
the cause, all her woe passed away, and her life 
grew sweet again, and she scarcely felt the 
ground beneath her feet. Her eyes were soft 
with tears that did not fall, and she reached out 
her hand to him. Her cheeks burned with the 
shame of love, and her lips quivered as if they 
longed to speak what they had never learned 
and might not utter till night and loneliness 
should teach it to her. 

Kiartan's face beamed with a happy smile, 
and he was loving and confident, as he spoke in 
a voice which mingled music with might : 

" They say your dead, lady, will never die, 
and I thought to have labor enough to draw 
you from the grave of the old days to-night ; 
but you remember, I see, the days earlier yet, 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 183 

when we came together as younglings. Surely 
your eyes look kindly on me now, and it must 
be because of this." 

A brief shadow crossed Gudrun' s face, but 
she answered eagerly, " Ah, if only such pleas- 
ant days might last ! What joy it was to wander 
hand in hand gathering shells by the beach !" 
She wondered at the sound of her own voice, so 
strange an accent it had. She chid her heart 
for rejoicing, and yet felt full of fear for some 
unknown reason. But quickly every emotion 
was stilled as Kiartan sat down beside her. 

Old Oswif smiled to see her so changed, and 
Olaf laughed outright for joy. Bodli sat by 
them, full of pleasure in their newly kindled 
liking ; and the whole place ran over with merri- 
ment and good-will because of Gudrun's restora- 
tion to happiness. 

At last in the glimmer of moonlight Olaf and 
his company rode homeward, each with thoughts 
which were born of the new hope : Kiartan 
weaving dreams of the bliss to be, Bodli re- 
joicing in his foster-brother's good fortune, and 
Olaf full of the glory which should spring from 
these to perpetuate his noble line. 

But Gudrun was sorely vexed by the conflict 
of new and old thoughts. She watched Kiartan 
go away, and her heart sank within her. The 
wave of pity and shame flowed back upon her 



184 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and struggled with her growing love. Yet the 
very struggle strengthened her passion and 
made her yearn anew for its object, no matter 
what seeds of ill might be hidden there. Then 
she fell asleep, and lay at rest beneath the in- 
looking moon, which fell across her tumbled bed 
and searched out her white breast and one arm 
buried deep in her wealth of hair. She seemed 
very beautiful and soft that night of her new 
birth into love and life. 

Seven miles was but a little space to part two 
lovers such as these, and very soon the threshold 
of Bathstead hall echoed as often to Kiar tan's 
step as to the sweep of Gudrun's silken hem. 
Life grew to them something sweeter than 
words could tell. To waken in the morning and 
watch from the casement the narrow winding 
way that led up to the hall ; to feel the flutter of 
heart as memory gave place to rapturous sight 
at the threshold, these were dear experiences ; 
and then the long hours of converse, when each 
word was like music which fell through the ear 
and clung to the heart ; and, sweetest of all, 
the very minute of parting, because then Love 
lifted the veil and became a living thing, and 
showed himself palpably to them as their lips 
and hands drew back and they went from each 
other till the morrow. The long nights, too, held 
manifold joys of waking and sleeping dreams. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 185 

And yet through all her bliss Gudrun could 
hear sometimes the strain of Guest's prophecy, 
and her happy mind would darken at the in- 
truding thought. But she put away the warn- 
ing, and lived only in the present, and what she 
herself refused to heed no other divined : so all 
the country-side rejoiced that two such houses 
were to be tied fast by wedlock, for the thing 
portended long years of peace. 

Now, Bodli was still overshadowed by the 
fame of Kiartan, but he was second only to him 
in all men's minds. Though he needed the love 
of his fellows more than Kiartan did, yet he 
was less able to move their hearts ; but the 
mutual trust and fellowship of the cousins were 
undiminished, and Olaf loved his son scarcely 
more than his nephew. Since Kiartan had be- 
gun to woo Gudrun, he and Bodli seemed drawn 
closer together than ever before. In truth, 
there was no concealment of thought or act 
between them. 

Thus as day by day Kiartan fared to Bath- 
stead, he found the road always shorter if Bodli 
rode by his side. He would pour his love for 
Gudrun into his companion's willing ears and 
ease his heart of its load of passion, while Bodli 
in turn loved to mock him with light raillery 
about Gudrun. Yet Kiartan saw covertly that 
his brother's heart was kindling under the 

16* 



186 Tales from Ten Poets. 

influence of his own, though as yet it found no 
lodgement for its passion. 

But one day as the three talked together they 
began to name over in sport all the fair and 
good women they knew who were yet unwedded, 
pretending so to choose Bodli a mate. 

" Then over-sea," said Kiartan. " There may 
be one to suit over-sea. Go forth and win her !" 

Bodli laughed, and cast upon the table his 
great sword with its iron hilt. 

" Go, sword," he said, " and fetch me a bride. 
I will stay here in Iceland with those who love 
me. Go !" 

Then Gudrun said, " Things more strange 
have happened than that we three should some 
day float upon the Thames or Seine. There's 
little to gain biding here at this cold end of the 
world." 

Kiartan sprang up and threw his sword aloft 
and caught it by the hilt as it fell. " Would that 
the bark was at this very moment ready to 
bear us out !" he cried. " Oh, would that we 
could see Italy above the horizon there ! But 
sheathe your sword, Bodli, till I give the word, 
and wait till you hear from me, Gudrun." 

She looked lovingly at him, and Bodli saw her 
hand reach nearer and nearer to his. Then 
Bodli got up and sheathed his sword. 

"No, if I am so hard to marry, I think I 



Tlie Lovers of Gudrun. 187 

must go a-roving. I will speak with Oswif and 
learn the truth about the warfare between Olaf 
Tryggvison and Hacon." 

Then he laughed gayly and went swiftly from 
the hall, and found the old man, and did not 
come back again until the day waned and the 
hall began to fill with people. He thought that 
Kiartan sat strangely quiet, and he saw an un- 
usual glow in Gudrun's eyes as she gazed on 
him, and a shadow rose in his heart that made 
him look upon the world as something less 
noble, but still there was an unknown pleasure 
within him. On the way home Kiartan was 
brooding and silent or spoke in words of light 
mockery ; but as the days wore on there was 
little change to note, and Gudrun and he were 
still all in all to each other. But they talked 
dftener now of fair places beyond the sea, and 
sometimes a look half like a rebuke would 
cross Gudrun' s face as Kiartan told over eagerly 
the marvels of those other lands. Bodli fell into 
deep musings as he heard the stories, and had 
strange dreams that he could not remember 
when he came back to common life. 

So the seasons passed ; but in the autumn the 
foster-brothers rode to Burgfirth, where there 
was a ship newly arrived in White-Eiver. They 
had some talk with the seamen, and Kiartan in- 
vited the captain back to Herdholt as his guest. 



188 Tales from Ten Poets. 

He gladly went with him, and thus they learned 
tidings of the warrior Hacon, who had been 
slain. His son was exiled, and Norway lay in 
peace under the hand of Olaf Tryggvison. The 
captain was full of praises for this king. He 
was, he said, the noblest man who ever held the 
tiller or cast the spear ; and to this Kiartan lis- 
tened eagerly. 

But when he went to Bathstead, Kiartan 
talked less than before of his yearning to see 
the outlands, and when Gudrun would ask him 
of the thing he would answer her evasively or 
lightly and change the subject with a kiss. He 
also spoke of her less to Bodli now, though his 
brother (because of her beauty, was the excuse 
he made to himself) was more anxious than ever 
to hear news of her. Bodli began to feel that 
the times were changing over-fast when Kiartan 
could deny answers to questions which in other 
days would have gained a loving and instant 
response. 

Yule-tide came at last, and the neighbors from 
far and near went to one another's feasts, and, as 
the custom was, all Bathstead went to Herd- 
holt. The revelling was long and generous 
there, and Gudrun sat in the high seat by the 
goodwife, where she heard the new king's name 
echoed from mouth to mouth, and much talk 
from the wayfarers of the south lands. A sharp 



Tlie Lovers of Gudrun. 189 

pain went through her anxious heart as she be- 
held Kiartan lean forward on the board in silent 
and rapt attention to the news. She watched 
him for a long while with sad and hungry looks ; 
and all the time Bodli gazed at them with a 
fading smile on his lips and with eyes growing 
more and more troubled, until he hardly saw the 
people about him. 

But the Christmas-tide went by, and the year 
drifted on towards the midsummer. One day 
in his happiest mood Kiartan came to Bathstead, 
bringing Bodli with him, who was strangely 
silent and dull, which Gudrun noted, though she 
talked even more gayly than was her wont. As 
evening fell down along the valley, Kiartan 
spoke softly to her. 

" Let us make the most of our bliss, dearest, 
for I must go away from you soon. In a day 
or two you will hear our horns blow the Loath- 
to-go, and I must put on my fighting gear." 

" And am I to stay behind ?" she said, turning 
with surprise upon him. " Others may call me 
what they will ; you know me, — kind and long- 
enduring. If I am with you, I care not how 
the rough sea treats me. Come, let me share 
the glory. I will go with you and take the fear 
you cast aside." 

She stood before him with meeting palms as 
one in prayer, and she was pale and weary-look- 



190 Tales from Ten Poets. 

ing. Bodli paced up and down the hall with 
clanking sword and set brows, scarcely less pale 
than Gudrun. The waning sun shone through 
the narrow windows and fell in gold upon her 
breast and clasped hands. Kiartan stood gazing 
upon her with a wavering heart. Love of her 
and love of fame were in sore conflict within 
him. At last he cast his eyes on the pavement 
and knit his brow, as though he meant to say 
some bitter word. Gudrun's hands fell. 

" No, no !" she cried impatiently, " I'll not ask 
you twice to take a good gift. I know my heart, 
and you do not. Farewell. Maybe the Skalds 
will tell of other great deeds than yours." 

Her face was deadly pale as she brushed by 
Bodli, who stood aghast with open mouth and 
hands vainly stretched forth. Kiartan followed 
her a step or two, then stopped bewildered. 
But suddenly, like a changing wind, she tui*ned 
back and came trembling to his side. 

"Forgive me, forgive me!" she said, with 
streaming eyes. "Do not take my words as 
men's are taken. Oh, fair love, go, and let your 
fame run through the lands, for I know that 
what you win is all mine, as you are all mine 
at last." 

She threw her arms about his neck, and 
Kiartan, touched with love and pity, made offer 
to give up the voyage j but she still bade him 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 191 

go, and not be beguiled by a woman's tears. A 
mist was in his eyes also as he pressed her fair 
head to his breast. 

" My sweet," he said, " we shall keep tryst once 
again to say farewell before the ship sails ; then, 
when I come back with honor won, how good it 
is to think of our rejoicing !" 

She said some little words no pen can write, 
and laid her hands against his face, and amidst 
his kisses played lightly with his hair. Then, 
smiling through her tears, she went away, seem- 
ing wholly to forget that Bodli stood by them. 

But before the day arrived when Kiartan 
meant to bid Gudrun farewell a long-desired 
change came in the weather. A northwest wind 
sprang up, and Kalf the captain urged them to 
set out while yet it lasted. There was a great 
bustle and hum of voices in the hall over-night, 
and the next morning at dawn Kiartan, with 
Bodli beside him, led from the gates ten strong 
and well-armed warriors. Kalf pointed his spear 
towards the south, and they followed him, and 
rode away amid shouted words of parting from 
the household, in the midst of whom stood Olaf, 
flushed with joy, and proud of the brave set- 
ting forth of his kin. 

That night Kiartan and his company came to 
Burgfirth, where the ship lay anchored in White- 
Eiver, and on the morrow they got on board 



192 Tales from Ten Poets. 

and 8ped away with bellying sail and long sweep- 
ing oar. 

III. 

After much time at sea, Kiartan and his men 
came to Drontheim in ISTorway, where now ruled 
Olaf Tryggvison, and they heard on every side 
praise of the King's might and fame, and how 
he had turned from the old faith of his land to 
worship a new God and demanded that all 
others should do likewise. 

Now, Kiartan was of a haughty spirit, and 
had come forth from his own country to find 
adventure, and not to bow to another's rule. 
He spoke with his countrymen who were in 
Drontheim and brought them to resist the King's 
command, and when the King's messenger sum- 
moned them to show obedience he was sent 
back with a defiant answer, but Kiartan and 
his fellow-Icelanders put on their arms and 
went up to the council-chamber in menacing 
array. 

When they came before the King they were 
commanded to accept the new faith or suffer 
death, whereupon swords were quickly drawn • 
loud cries echoed through the great hall. And 
the multitude, led by Kiartan and Bodli, fell into 
deadly combat. But the King had no wish to 
slay the new-comers even if he might, and 



The Lovers of Gudrun, 193 

planned to win his cause by peaceful means 
rather than by bloodshed. 

" Hold !" he cried to his people. " You are too 
quickly stirred to wrath !" Then he made 
friendly overtures to Kiartan, whose noble and 
forgiving heart was touched to amity by his 
gentle words. 

Thus was good will sealed between Kiartan 
and the King, and Kiartan grew great in his 
favor, and lived with him in the palace as his 
guest, till at last at Yule-tide he and his fol- 
lowers were led to the minster in white raiment 
and hallowed into the King's new faith. Then 
as time passed the gossips whispered that 
Kiartan was to wed Ingibiorg, the King's sister, 
for they were day-long together, and she was 
fair of face and of a gentle and graceful mien, 
and Kiartan found much pleasure in her com- 
pany, though he never slackened in his troth to 
Gudrun. 

But Bodli brooded day by day upon his home, 
and waited longingly for some news that should 
free the Icelanders from the King's hold, for he 
knew that unless the priests who had been sent 
to spread the faith in Iceland brought back 
favorable tidings, he and his friends would still 
be detained at Drontheim. 

At last, one day, the good news came, and also 
came cheering word from Herdholt and Bath. 
I.— I n 17 



194 Tales from Ten Poets. 

stead that all went well, and then in a little 
space the ships lay by the quay pointed towards 
Iceland, and Bodli, flushed and bright-eyed, went 
to bid Kiartan farewell. 

" Ah, Bodli, you are glad to go," he said. 
" Why, this is the best face I have seen since we. 
left Burgfirth." 

Bodli frowned. "You are as glad to stay, 
perhaps, as I to go. What ! do you think I plot 
against you, then ?" 

" You are the strangest of men, Bodli," said 
Kiartan, puzzled by his words. " Come now, 
leave oif riddles, and let us be as in the old 
times. You are as true and loyal as the sword 
at your side. Whatever may happen, I will 
trust you always." 

Then Bodli changed and besought him to for- 
give his dark looks, that came because he must 
leave his friend behind. He promised to tell 
all their kinsmen of Kiartan' s good fortunes, 
and to bear the news to Oswif as well. 

" Tell Gudrun," said Kiartan, gazing steadily 
on him, " all that you know of my honor and 
happiness, and say we shall meet again." 

Then they kissed and parted, and Bodli was 
borne across the sea to Iceland with a deep and 
secret passion consuming his heart. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 195 



lY. 



Now, one day in the waning summer Oswif 
and all his sons went forth to the west, and 
Gudrun stood by the door to see them off. Then 
when they had vanished behind the hill she 
turned and gazed long and fondly towards Herd- 
holt and the south. She mused sadly on the 
passing year, and thought how her heart seemed 
to harden with Kiartan's absence. She won- 
dered, too, if he would think her strange when 
he saw her again. Then, yearning to have him 
once more by her side, she inwardly pleaded 
with him to come back, — come back, and be as 
of old. 

For a while she looked quietly out upon the 
road, until the wind seemed to bring her the 
sounds of a galloping horse. She trembled be- 
tween hope and fear as the sounds grew plainer 
and seemed to come from the direction of Herd- 
holt. At last she saw a spear rise against the 
sky above the nearest hill, and next a gilded 
helm. Then, joyfully, she saw a man in crimson 
armor, who, when he gained the highest point, 
drew rein and gazed on Bathstead spreading 
beneath him there in the valley. 

In an instant the rider saw her, and struck 
spurs into his horse and rode swiftly to the 
place where she stood. He leapt down, and 



196 Tales from Ten Poets. 

met her pale and troubled face with the appeal- 
ing eyes of Bodli Thorleikson. 

A dreadful fear arose in her mind. " How does 
it fare with him, your kinsman?" she said. 

He drew back with a sudden pang : " Fear not, 
Gudrun, I bring fair news of him. He is well." 

" Speak out," she said. " What more is there ? 
Is he at Herdholt ? Will he come to-day ?" 

She turned away then with a bitter-sweet 
pain ; but he made a motion as if to reach his 
hands out to hers, and his eyes besought her 
for a single look of welcome. 

He told her how he had left Kiartan in Nor- 
way praised of all men, and how her lover had 
bid him say to her that he looked to see her 
face again. " So God be good to me, these were 
his words." 

Hereupon she turned around in sudden anger, 
bitterly accusing Kiartan. 

Then Bodli said, " Well, I have done my part ; 
let others tell the rest." And he turned to go, 
but lingered on. 

" Ko, no, friend of my lover," she cried. " If 
I speak ill words, pardon me, for my heart 
aches with pent-up love." 

She reached out her hand, and he turned and 
took it, and his eyes swam with tears. It 
seemed almost that his vain dreams had at last 
come true, and that he was born again to a hap- 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 197 

pier life. But she slowly withdrew her hand and 
stepped back. 

" Speak," she said. " I do not fear. When 
will he come ? Tell me the sweet words he gave 
you for me. Tell me of all his deeds." 

Bodli told her the true tidings, saving of Ingi- 
biorg, and she listened, trembling. 

" Good, very good," she said, when he had 
ended. " Yet why does he tarry beyond the 
sea?" 

Bodli flushed red : " Oh, Gudrun, must you die 
for one man's sake, you who are so heavenly? 
How shall I tell you ? You may live long, and 
yet never see Kiartan come back hither." 

She stood motionless. Bodli stretched out his 
hand : " They lie who say I did the thing, who 
say I wished for it. Oh, Gudrun, he sits day by 
day with Ingibiorg as lovers do, and men babble 
that soon he is to wed her and be made king, 
and that Olaf and he will conquer Denmark and 
England." 

She said some words in a voice which sounded 
like the wailing wind, then she passed by Bodli's 
trembling hands without giving him a look, and, 
blinded by the fire that burnt in his heart, he 
turned and got into the saddle, and knew noth- 
ing until he drew rein by Herdholt porch. 

Three days he sat in the hall in black despair, 

till his people began to whisper and watch his 

17* 



198 Tales from Jen Poets. 

going and coming with a great dread. But on 
the fourth day a messenger came from Gudrun, 
who bade him come to her at once, and he got 
up and rode madly to Bathstead hall. 

A great pleasure came to his heart when he 
saw her slim figure move towards him down the 
dusky hall, but when he saw her face he was 
hopeless. 

She asked him sorrowfully to tell her over 
again the news of Kiartan, and while he told 
all the bitter tidings, a passion now and again 
swept through her like the impulse of free- 
dom though a dove caught in the meshes. She 
waited till the last word was spoken, then 
flung out her arms and wailed aloud. Bodli 
stood silent like one who meets for the first time 
in hell the woman he has ruined, the while her 
sobs calmed slowly down to silence. At last a 
smile full of her wonted courtesy crossed her lips. 

" Oh, Bodli," she said, " how good you have 
been to me ! But why, why does he stay from 
me?" 

He pondered what to answer, but she took 
his hand in the familiar way of other days 
and led him to a seat and sat down beside him. 
Then, as she asked it, he told her once again all 
that had happened in Norway. 

" But how may I know," she said, " that this 
is true?" 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 199 

" Would God I were a liar !" he groaned. " Oh, 
Gudrun, you will find it but too true." Then 
he rose and went towards the door, heedless of 
her voice behind him. But yet, when he had 
ridden away and reached Herdholt, the time he 
had passed with her seemed a very heaven to 
him, and he longed to be near her again. 

Thus between varying emotions he passed 
many days, often meeting her among her kins- 
men at Bathstead, and sometimes alone. There 
was little rest for him night or day, and even 
death itself seemed to promise no cure for his 
malady. 

Kiartan still sojourned in Norway, but sent 
home no word of his doings, so that Gud- 
run at last ceased to speak of him, deeming him 
lost to her forever. Then the gossips began to 
babble of a match between her and Bodli, but 
they marvelled greatly at it, and held it a 
pity that one so fair should wed a man so 
strange and sad. But yet the thing came to 
pass after a while ; and thus the seed sown by 
evil hands sprang into being and bore its bitter 
fruits. 

V. 

Now, Kiartan at Olaf Tryggvison's court began, 
to long for home and the sight of Gudrun ; and 
at last, after much entreaty from the King to 



200 Tales from Ten Poets. 

tarry longer with him, he emharked for Iceland. 
But the parting from Ingibiorg pained him 
deeply, for she had grown to love him with a 
great passion. 

Then Kiartan and his followers, guided by 
Kalf, the captain, crossed the sea, and one day 
landed at Burgfirth. There they raised their 
tents, as the wont was, and held a fair of the 
treasure brought in the ships. 

Olaf and his sons were away from Herdholt 
when news of Kiartan' s arrival reached the 
hall; but Thurid, his sister, and her husband 
Gudmund, came, and Kalf's father Asgeir, 
bringing Eefna, his daughter, with a host of 
others. 

As Kiartan began to ask news of this and 
that old acquaintance, Thurid approached him 
with an anxious face and drew him aside. In 
some amazement he went with her. 

"Brother," she said, "I feared you might 
speak of Gudrun. You did not ask for her ?" 

Kiartan trembled. " I thought ill news would 
come of itself Is she dead ?" 

" No," stammered Thurid ; " she is well — and 
wedded!" 

" Wedded ! And the Peacock's house ? I 
used to think them valorous and my father 
a great man. And Bodli's sword — where was 
it?" 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 201 

He looked in her face, then turned and stag- 
gered wildly away from her. 

" Oh, blind, blind, blind !" he wailed. " Oh, 
Gudrun, I am back with all the honor won 
you, and who shall hear the tale of my deeds? 
Oh, how shall I learn to hate you, Bodli, turned 
into a lie as you are ?" 

He had gone some paces blindly, and now 
Thurid called him, and he turned suddenly 
around. All the noises about him sounded 
as if a great change had taken place in the 
world. The far-away shouts of the shipmen, 
the murmur of the sea, and the bleat of ewes 
on the downs, — all these, and even his own 
name, and the grass and white strand and dis- 
tant hills, seemed but as pictures in some dream, 
with their meaning lost. 

" In this last minute the world is clean changed 
for me, sister," he said ; " but yet I see that it 
will go on in spite of my pain. Come, then, I 
must meet my friends and face the life to be." 

She smiled kindly upon him, and they went 
into the biggest tent, where there was a crowd 
busied over the gay wares. Kalf was kneeling 
by a bale of rich stuffs, and close by him sat 
Eefna with her slim and dainty hand laid on an 
embroidered bag, and her fair head crowned 
with a rare coif. 

As Kiartan entered she raised her deep gray 



202 Tales from Ten Poets. 

eyes to him and blushed blood-red, and he in- 
wardly writhed with bitter anguish because of 
this, and because the coif she wore was the 
gift Ingibiorg had given him for Gudrun at 
parting. 

" Do not be angry," she said. " They have put 
this queen's gift on my head against my will." 

" Surely it becomes you well," he answered, 
evasively, " and whoever set it there did right. 
He were a rich man indeed who owned both 
the maiden and the coif." 

" So great and famed, so fair and kind," mur- 
mured Eefna. " Where shall any maid be found 
to say no to such asking ?" 

Then he turned suddenly around, and, laugh- 
ing wildly, said, with a scowl, — 

" All women are alike to me, — all good, all a 
blessing to this fair earth." 

Silence fell on the group for a little space, but 
anon he began to talk to one and another in his 
old gentle way, and through the rest of the time 
they stayed there he seemed unchanged, for so 
his father thought when he greeted him at last 
in Herdholt. But Gudrun' s name was not 
spoken, either in the tents by the ship or in 
the hall. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 203 

YI. 

KiARTAN found all things about his home as 
he had left them so long ago. There stood the 
hills, there Lax-Eiver ran down to the sea ; the 
thrall and serving-man came home from fold 
and hay-field, and Olaf 's cheery voice called 
above the mead-horns. The fiddle-bow danced, 
the harp-strings twanged, and olden tales of 
love and wrong were told as of yore. But there 
was one change that had a deep meaning for 
the home-comer : Bodli's face was absent from 
the hall. 

Many woful thoughts pressed upon Kiartan's 
mind as he brooded over his wrong, and bitter- 
ness grew within him day by day. Yet the 
other two were as much in need of pity at 
Bathstead. 

Theirs had been a dismal wedding, where 
every tongue was checked lest some word should 
be uttered to wound another's feelings, or some 
name spoken that should kindle the smoulder- 
ing indignation into open fire. The sons of 
Oswif were silent and fierce, and Olaf shrank 
back into his high seat and seemed aged and 
weary. His sons looked doubtfully at Bodli, 
and more than once the hot words they would 
have flung at him were checked by their father's 
warning eye. 



204 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Then on the morrow Gudrun and Bodli began 
a life void of happiness, but full of capricious 
changes in mood and act. The hall which once 
rang with gay and free mirth became silent and 
dull. 

But one autumn evening as Bodli and Gud- 
run, with her brother Ospak, sat on the dais, 
there came to the gate-way two wandering 
churls who asked for shelter. As none was ever 
turned away from Oswif 's door unheeded, they 
were soon seated amid the boisterous house- 
carles, revelling in mirth and ease. They 
pleased their audience with coarse jokes and 
themselves laughed loudest of all the table-full. 

Ospak sat awhile in his place looking across 
at Bodli with scorn, for he had grown to hate 
the brooding looks always bent downward in 
despair. At last he yawned with either hand 
stretched out, and cried aloud to the merry 
company at the lower table, — 

" Well fare you, fellows ! What gives you so 
much merriment ? We are not merry here." 

One stepped forth. " Sooth, Ospak," he said, 
"our talk's of little worth. These wandering 
churls are full of meat and drink and make a 
deal of fun." 

" Bring them here," said Ospak ; " they may 
help to divert us." 

The wanderers came up from the lower end 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 205 

of the hall, ill clad and unkempt, yet with 
merry faces enough. They were a little timo- 
rous in such presence, but drink emboldened 
them before long. 

" Well, fellows," said Ospak, " what tidings 
are afield ? "Where do you come from ?" 

The first man turned his leering eyes on Bodli, 
and a cunning grin came upon his face ; but just 
as he began, the other, drunker and perhaps, 
therefore, wiser, screwed up his eyes, and said, — 

" Say-all-you-know goes with a clouted head." 

" Say-naught-at-all gets beaten," said Ospak, 
** if he has his belly full of meat and makes no 
answer." 

"Do not be angry, son of Oswif," said the 
first ; " yet Mistress Gudrun there " 

" Tush !" said the second, " thou art mighty 
full ©f fear for a man full of drink. Let her say 
that we shall go as we came, and all is soon told." 

Ospak laughed, and, sprawling over the laden 
board, he sat with his cheek close to his cup. 
But Grudrun turned to him pale and with a 
great agony of hope striving in her. 

" Tell me the tale, and have a gift for it," she 
said. "My finger is no better for this gold. 
Draw it off." And she reached her hand out 
to the man, who stood wondering at her, half 
sobered by her face and not daring to touch the 
ring. 

18 



206 Tales from Ten Poets. 

" We came from Burgfirth," at last he said, 
" where about a new-anchored ship they held 
a sale. The skipper was Kalf Asgeirson, and 
many others were there." 

Ospak still sat chuckling to himself and 
lolling over his cup, but Bodli rose up and be- 
gan to pace to and fro, as he had done once 
before in that same place. 

The man went on: "I saw Gudmund, and 
Thurid, and Asgeir and his daughter, as they 
stood about a man whose mantle was red as 
blood and fine as a king's raiment." 

Ospak hereupon put up his left hand to his 
ear, as one who listens intently, and smiled all 
the while. Then, amid unbroken silence, the 
wanderer said, — 

" I had never seen this tall man before. He 
carried a wondrous weapon in his sword-belt all 
gemmed and overwrought with gold. I dared 
not ask his name, yet surely, mistress, I deemed 
him to be Kiartan Olafson." 

He looked around as he finished, as if he 
feared something would happen, but those three 
hearts were stirred no further by a name each 
expected to hear spoken. Bodli still paced the 
floor ; Ospak beat a tune upon the board with 
his hand; and, saying not a syllable, Gudrun 
drew the ring from her finger and gave it to 
the news-bearer. But Ospak knew that the 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 207 

trinket had been Bodli's first gift to his sister 
when they had plighted troth. 

Then the travelling churls went slowly down 
the hall, but one looked over his shoulder as he 
withdrew, and saw Ospak lean over to Gudrun 
and nod his head at Bodli, meanwhile pointing a 
mocking finger at his own breast. But Gudrun 
did not heed him ; for she had but one thought : 
that Kiartan had come back and she should 
see him once again. 

Night came slowly down upon the dull hall, 
and all went off to bed save Bodli, who sat alone 
in the high seat. It was nearly dawn when he 
heard behind him a light footfall. He did not 
dare to look around, till presently the figure was 
close beside him, white in the half-dusk of the 
morning. He tried to cry out, but his tongue 
clove to his mouth, and he had no power to reach 
his sword-hilt. It seemed as if his guilt and sor- 
row stood there bodily before him, yet when a 
dreadful voice spoke he knew it was Gudrun's. 

"I came again," she said, "because I lay 
awake and thought about what men have told 
of traitors, and I wanted to see how one would 
look to me. Night, nor death either, shall hide 
you from what you have wrought, O Bodli 
Thorleikson! My curse upon you!" And she 
broke into wild gestures and an endless stream 
of bitter words. 



208 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Bodli helplessly stretched out his hands for 
peace, and said in a low voice, " "Would God I 
were dead ! and yet I hope to have kinder words 
than these from Kiartan before I die." 

" Yes, he is kind, he is kind," she exclaimed. 
"He loves all, and casts his kindness wide as 
God. He loves me as God loves his crawling 
creatures ; and who knows how I love him ? — 
how I hate a face he looks kindly on ? God help 
me, I am talking of my love to you, and I yet 
may prove even such a traitor as you before 
the tale is done !" 

She went away then, but lingered close by, as 
if to hear what he might say. But dawn came 
up apace, the sparrows woke about the eaves, 
the swan trumpeted from far away, and the 
cold morning wind running along the hangings 
caught her unbound hair, drove her night-clothes 
around her body, and stirred the rushes on which 
she stood. 

Their eyes met a moment in a strange look, 
and he rose with haggard face and trembling 
limbs as if to embrace her, but she tossed her 
arms wildly over her head and with one dreadful 
glance fled away. * 

YII. 

The days wore on, and Kiartan was silent 
about the two who had wronged him. But 
Olaf was anxious, and feared that some day his 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 209 

son's smouldering resentment might burst forth 
into a blaze of revenge. 

Kalf the captain came often to the Peacock's 
stead during that autumn and brought his sister 
Eefna. At last it began to be whispered that 
she would make a seemly wife for Kiartan, if 
he ever chose to marry. Eefna heard these 
rumors and grew full of foolish hopes. But 
Kiartan paid little heed to her, though he noted 
well how she looked on him, and he could not 
pass her by without seeing how fair and gentle 
she was. 

As Yule-tide came round again Oswif bade 
the Bathstead folk to Herdholt, and all made 
ready to go save Kiartan, who wandered aim- 
lessly among the busy groups on the morning 
of parting, but said not a word to any soul. 

When Olaf heard of this he came to Kiartan 
with an anxious face. 

" Why will you still harbor wrath, my son ? 
Come, let the past be past. You are young, and 
may gain many another honor and love." 

Kiartan turned slowly and said, with a sneer, 
"Truly, sir, love abounds in this kind world. 
One more than I deemed of loved my love, and 
there's the trouble." But as he looked at his 
father's gray locks and wrinkled brow, he asked 
more kindly, " What would you have me do, 
father ? I sit here quietly and let: others live 
I.— 18* 



210 Tales from Ten Poets. 

their lives as they will. Would you desire to 
wake up strife?" 

Olaf denied that he did, but spoke his sorrow 
for his son's grief and loneliness, and plead with 
him to go to Bathstead with the rest. 

So Kiartan at last consented, and once again 
he saw the place which of old had seemed holy 
to him. He made no outcry as he greeted 
Bodli, who came towards him with a shamefaced 
mien, but simply said, — 

"Be merry, Bodli; you are nobly wedded. 
You had the toil, and now the reward is yours." 

Then he saw Gudrun far away in the hall, 
and caught her gray eyes as they turned to his, 
and the three that were friends stood gazing at 
one another in silent bitterness. 

The feast was spread, and the Yule-tide merri- 
ment went round the board, but Kiartan sat 
coldly through it all, watching Gudrun, still in 
her perfect loveliness, untouched by passion. 
Bodli glanced from one to the other in feverish 
dread, striving to pierce the masks they wore, 
and fearing each moment to hear a shriek from 
the broken heart of his wife. 

When the day was over, Bodli brought Kiar- 
tan three handsome horses, such as had never 
before been seen in Iceland. He entreated him 
to take them, but Kiartan only said in a low 
voice, — 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 211 

" Do not strive with fate, Bodli. You have 
made your choice ; gifts and love will scarcely 
heal a wound like mine. God keep us wide 
apart." 

Then Olaf and his household went homeward ; 
and, as they rode together, Olaf blamed his son 
for refusing the gifts, and plead with him to go 
again to Bathstead. Kiartan answered duti- 
fully, but he warned Olaf that the seed he was 
sowing would one day bring forth a dreadful 
fruit. 

Now, it happened that through the tender 
offices of Thurid, and because Kiartan felt his 
heart touched by Eefna's beauty, he came to 
love her in a pitying fashion because she grew 
pale in loving him, and at last he married 
her. 

Then the months passed, and autumn came 
again, and, as was the yearly custom, the Bath- 
stead kindred went over in turn to Herdholt ; 
and though Kiartan was loath to face them, 
yet his father prayed him to put by his doubts, 
and once more he was obliged to see Gudrun 
and Bodli together. 

Eefna beheld Gudrun's great beauty with 
troubled thoughts; and Kiartan noting this, 
and how Gudrun sat in the hall as if she were 
its mistress, grew angered. Then, as the guests 
were marshalled to their seats, and the serving- 



212 Tales from Ten Poets. 

maid asked him who should fill the high seat 
beside the goodwife, he roared out, " Who, 
damsel, but my wife ?" As he spoke he glanced 
at Gudrun, and their eyes met. She changed 
color, and he grew warmer still, berating the 
girl in scornful words levelled at Grudrun. 

" You'll have to fight for Gudrun yet," laughed 
Ospak to Bodli in a whisper all could hear ; and 
thus the feast began. 

The next day Thorgerd called Eefna to her, 
and bade her put on the rich coif given to Kiar- 
tan by Queen Ingibiorg. Refna reddened and 
looked with appealing eyes to her husband, who 
was deep in thought and said nothing. She 
went then, seeing there was no escape, and put 
on the glittering head-dress, and came to her 
seat on the dais looking like a brilliant star 
through the shadowed hall. 

Ospak saw Gudrun turn pale at this, and he 
showed his teeth like a sulky hound, muttering 
that the coif had been stolen from his sister; 
but Kiartan went over and sat by his wife, and 
whispered that he liked her better with no or- 
nament at all upon her fair brow. " Look down 
there," he said, " at Oswif 's scowling sons ! The 
coif may draw their swords upon us before we 
part." 

Gudrun watched them, sick-hearted and full 
of malice, as she saw how Kiartan's hand lay on 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 213 

Eefna's and how close their cheeks came to- 
gether. She was ready now to second her 
brothers in their growing hatred. 

Then the next morning, after the guests had 
departed, Kiartan went to find his sword, the 
gift of the King, which he had laid aside while 
he bade them Godspeed ; but he found it gone 
from its place above his bed. He questioned all 
his people, but none had seen it. 

Meanwhile, An the Black, a sturdy house- 
carle, slipped out, and came back presently, 
panting sorely, but smiling all the while. He 
carried something wrapped in his cloak. 

" Well," said Olaf, " what has happened 
now?" 

An told how he had followed Olaf and his 
party, knowing what thieves they were, — this he 
said with a dangerous sparkle of the eyes, — and 
at the Peat Moss he saw young Thorolf lag 
behind and take something from his cloak. He 
thrust it down into the bog, then swiftly rode 
on again. But An came up to the place when 
they were out of sight and drew forth the 
sword. The scabbard was gone past recovery, 
rich and beautiful as it was. 

Hereupon he drew the bright and naked 
" King's Gift," as it was called, from his cloak, 
and Olaf was rejoiced that it was found, and 
praised An for his achievement. 



214 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Kiartan spoke musingly, taking the sword in 
his hand. " Who can tell," he said, " but this, 
after all, will end the troublous tale? Well, I 
did not cast the sheath away." 

YIII. 

Now, although Olaf bade An hold his peace, 
and although Kiartan likewise promised to be 
fair-spoken to the kin of Bathstead, yet before 
long the story of the stolen sword came to be 
known far and wide. News reached Kiartan's 
ears that Oswif 's sons deemed that they had 
cast a shame on Herdholt by the theft, and that 
they openly mocked him as " Mire-Blade." But 
Kiartan was unmoved by these rumors, and until 
the return of Yule-tide, when the men of Herd- 
holt made ready to ride to Bathstead, nothing 
happened to mar the outward amity of the two 
houses. 

When Olaf 's household was ready to set out, 
Thorgerd told Eefna she must again wear the 
queen's coif and look like the bride she was. 
Eefna dared not refuse, but she entreated the 
goodwife to spare her, and pleaded that it might 
remain in her chest. 

" No, no!" said Kiartan. " If it were only for 
you and me, sweet, there it might rest ; but I 
remember how when I was a child and wanted 
some glittering thing, an axe or a knife, my 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 215 

mother would let me have it, knowing that I 
would be sure to cut myself in punishment." 

Refna looked down puzzled and shamefaced. 
Thorgerd turned to Kiartan with a frown, but 
he only smiled and said, " Yes, mother, let the 
gold burn among the Bathstead lights. Come, 
we must play our parts openly." 

So the coif was brought, and the company 
once more rode to Olaf's hall and feasted as 
merrily as was their custom. But when the 
season of revelling was over, and Eefna looked 
for her golden head-gear, it was gone and could 
not be found. She passed through the crowd 
and whispered the news to Kiartan. Ospak 
stood near them and bit his lips, watching 
eagerly what they did. 

" Well, let it be," said Kiartan ; " light won, 
light gone. If it's still above ground, Refna, 
doubt not it will one day be recovered." 

Each one in the hall looked alarmed at his 
neighbor. Thorgerd turned to Gudrun and 
said, firmly, — 

" I have seen the day when the kin of Egil 
would kill a man or two for a thing of less 
worth than this." 

Gudrun calmly met her frown. "Was the 
thins: his own ?" she asked. " It is small loss for 
her to sit without his old love's coif upon her 
head." 



216 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Before Thorgerd could answer, Kiartan cried 
out to Bodli, " Come, ride with me to the hill 
by the beach. I must speak, cousin, what has 
troubled my mind these last days of our meet- 
ing." 

Bodli flushed red, and, taking his sword from 
his side, gave it to his wife. 

" One sword will be enough between us to- 
day," he murmured ; then, as they rode away, 
Kiartan leaned toward Ospak and mockingly 
said, " I love you. I would not have you die. 
Do not see me too often, because I have a 
plague sometimes that brings those who come 
near me to the grave." 

Ospak's hand fell on his sword-hilt and he 
shrank back to the doorway. Kiartan laughed 
gayly as he and Bodli rode jingling down to 
the sea. 

But the laughter passed from Kiartan's lips 
when he and Bodli at last came to be alone. 

" You see, Bodli," he said, " how we two must 
swim down this strange stream. You are 
weaponless to-day, and my sword stays in its 
scabbard. How long is it to last ?" 

" Until I am no more," said Bodli. " Shall I 
take life and love both from you, Kiartan ?" 

" No," he answered, " but you cannot be so sure 
of it, Bodli. Bemember where you stand, be- 
tween a passionate woman's heart and the envy 



The Lovers of Gudriin. 217 

of a dangerous fool. You are helpless. As a 
thing begins, so it must end. Ah, brother, the 
old days are still dear to me, in spite of all that 
has come to pass ; but to-day I part from you 
and them forever. What say you, then : shall 
the days to come be forgiven ? Shall it not be 
remembered less that we have parted, than that 
we once loved each other dearly well ?" 

Bodli gazed silently into his brother's face. 
" O Kiartan, why do you speak thus ?" he said at 
last. " I do the wrong twice over in hearing you 
say the words." 

Then, when he had done, Bodli started back, 
and the murmuring sea seemed to tell, from far 
off, of rest from pain. On a little knoll he 
turned about, and, looking toward the hill, saw 
Kiartan's spear glittering above its brow, but 
the warrior himself was hidden below. Then 
Bodli slowly rode home to await the end of all. 



IX. 

Now, one day in the spring-time Eefna wan- 
dered by a brook near to Herdholt, and at 
last lay down in a grassy place and fell asleep. 
When she awoke she could hear the sound of 
voices near by, though the speakers were con- 
cealed from her by the thick leafage under 
which she rested. There were two women 

K 19 



218 Tales from Ten Poets. 

talking as they washed the household linen, and 
their news was of Kiartan. 

" They say," one repeated to the other, " that 
though it is latter spring, yet Kiartan has done 
nothing to punish the two thefts of the Bath- 
stead men." 

" Fool !" said the second, " must he stir up 
strife for every trifle ?" 

" Well, at all events," quoth the first, " none of 
Kiartan' 8 kin would have dared to do the thing 
to Gudrun. Listen, this is the truth, for every 
one knows it. Gudrun and Kiartan would be 
very glad were Bodli and Eefna out of the way !" 

Eefna came to her husband with this gossip 
and opened her aching heart to him; but he 
only showered kisses on her and drew her to his 
breast. Her faith and love for him touched him 
deeply, so pure and changeless was she ; yet he 
could not but think, even while she lay against 
his heart, of the hopes of old, now fallen all to 
nothingness. 

For a day or two after this he went about 
with a brooding face, but at last, one noon, he 
bade his men see to their war array, and com- 
manded that two hours after midnight all of 
them should await his coming in the hall. They 
were punctually present when he entered, clad 
in his fairest armor ; and Eefna, who watched 
the spears and glittering mail through the hang- 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 219 

ings, heard the rough laughter of the men and 
saw the red lights glare in the gray dawn with 
a wild alarm. 

Kiartan found her before he set out, and gayly 
promised her a noble gift when he should re- 
turn. " Do your part to receive it graciously, 
Eefna," he said ; " gather the fiddlers and glee- 
men here to make merry with you." 

Eefna guessed the cause of this warlike sally, 
and she grew faint at heart to think that words 
of hers should have led to it. She clung to 
Kiartan, but he gently drew her hold from his 
mail-rings and kissed her lovingly. Then she 
fell back in tears upon her bed, and presently 
heard his cheerful cry: "To Bathstead, ho!" 
and the noisy crowd clashed through the hall 
and passed out at the gates. After this, all was 
still, save the loitering footsteps of some maid 
getting back to bed, and she lay alone in great 
dread and grief. 

But at Bathstead, before the household was 
up that morning, there was heard the far-away 
winding of a horn ; and when they ran to the 
door, Oswif 's sons saw a great company beset- 
ting every exit of their home. The Bathstead 
men hurriedly put on their arms and went out ; 
but there was a tent of gay stripes raised on 
the slope against the hall, and Olaf 's sons stood 
all around it with sixty followers. 



220 Tales from Ten Poets, 

One man, taller than the rest, stood some 
yards nearer the hall door, leaning on a pen- 
noned spear, and clad in glittering mail. He 
had a shield about his neck bearing a picture of 
the Holy Eood, and out of his helmet fell long 
yellow locks. His eyes were hidden by the brim, 
but Oswif and his sons knew that it was Kiar- 
tan, and a great fear overtook them, notwith- 
standing their fiery hatred of him and his kin. 

Ospak alone among his fellows did not quail, 
but strode out before the rest, crying, — 

" We were wont to receive you inside, not 
out, Kiartan Olafson. What have you done, that 
you are forbidden to enter?" 

The tall man did not move, but a deep voice 
came from the helm, — 

" I am sick now, and somewhat deadly to those 
who come near me. My sword has lost its scab- 
bard. Beware of its naked edge !" 

Then Ospak shook his spear aloft, but the tall 
man stood forth and pushed back his helm and 
showed the face of Kiartan. 

" Back ! till I bid you come out," he cried. 
" My father's sons have sworn to spare no man 
of you if a single drop of blood is spilt. Back 
to your hall ! We are here to take our due from 
meadow and barn." Then he let down his helm 
and returned to the tent, while the Bathstead 
men, armed but helpless, sat silent within, and 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 221 

heard the raiders drive their cattle from the 
pastures. Bodli was in the high seat, but his 
face was worn and sad ; yet he looked as if he 
were thinking of gentle things, even while the 
fierce eyes of Gudrun' s brothers scowled upon 
him. She herself paced restlessly hour after 
hour through the hall, while old Oswif sat apart 
with wrinkled brow, unnoticed by the surly 
warriors. 

The sounds of laughter and blowing horns 
outside became louder and louder, and never 
ceased till mid-day. It grew more quiet then, 
though those within still heard the lowing of 
cattle and the shouts of the victorious drivers. 

Then a voice came from the hill-side: "Ee- 
joice, men of Bathstead, that you need hold no 
autumn feast this year. Come out : we will not 
harm you now ; we have paid ourselves, and all 
is peaceful." 

They did not stir. Then the voice again cried, 
" What ! are you all dead with fear ? Come out, 
I say!" 

Then Ospak, with a great oath, cast down his 
shield and spear and strode out, and the rest 
followed him, one by one, till Bodli and Gudrun 
were left alone. 

" And you, — will you not go ? Do you know 
who it is that shames us thus ?" 

" Yes, yes, I know," he said. " Farewell ; I will 
19* 



222 Tales from Ten Foets. 

go, but not without my sword." And he drew 
his sword, and went among Oswif 's sons, who 
stood foaming and impotent at the door. Kiartan 
sat in his saddle outside, and his brothers stood 
around him beside their horses, while a great 
noise came from the cattle that thronged the 
way below the hill. 

Bodli stepped out and confronted his foster- 
brother. 

" Come, son of Olaf, meet me now," he cried, 
" for long have I been weary of the earth, and. 
but one thing seems good to me, — that I should 
take death at your hands." 

Then the bright steel shone in the sunlight, 
and Olaf 's sons would soon have ended all, but 
Kiartan shouted, above the clash of arms, — 

" Hold ! make a hedge of your shields and 
thrust him back. It is vain for him to win 
death. Live, cousin, and get what you may of 
joy and honor!" 

Bodli held back his weapon and retreated 
into the door-way before the wall of shields. 
Then Kiartan said, — 

" Better, cousin, if you must die by me, that it 
should be in some noble fight. Yet God grant 
us many a day before it happens !" Then, turning 
to the rest, " But listen, you thievish sons of a 
wise old man. I gave you from Yule till this 
day to pay your debt. I take it twice told now. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 223 

and I leave behind a double shame. This is 
my bridal gift. Think well of it." 

Bodli still stood in the door-way with drawn 
sword, while amid the clang of arms and blare 
of horns he saw the herd move up the dusty 
road. He saw Kiartan, too, linger behind the 
rest and stare at the gray hall whose roof had 
so often covered him, and he could fancy that he 
sighed as he looked back at its spreading angles. 

" Ah, would God I had died by that hand to- 
day !" said the hopeless alien ; then he sheathed 
his sword and was hustled by the sullen and 
baffled brothers into the hall. 

The time went far differently at Herdholt. 
When evening came, Eefna, watching from the 
knoll, saw a dust-cloud move toward her far 
away on the road, and her heart beat fast when 
she beheld in its midst helms and spear-heads, 
and at last the guarded herd. She bade the 
women put on their best array, and placed the 
minstrels on either side the path to greet the 
band, whose horns by this time blew close to the 
garth-gate. Now they passed through the gate 
and over the home-field toward the wall, wear- 
ing the Bathstead flowers bound upon their 
helms, while the cattle were garlanded with 
wreaths from their own pastures. 

From the close within came joyful cries and 
sounds of harp and fiddle, and a shout ran all 



224 Tales from Ten Poets, 

along the line of warriors in gay response. Old 
Olaf came out to the door to greet his sons, 
and Kiartan leapt down by Eefna's side and 
threw his arms about her, 

" Behold, Eefna ! the ' Queen's Gift' is fittingly 
paid for," he cried. " These are yours, sweet, to 
put from you all care and every word that grieves 
you!" 

Eefna tried to utter her thanks, but could find 
no words, and, with a loving cry, hid her face in 
his breast. 

" A dear price to pay for a girl's coif!" Olaf 
muttered. "Woe is me that I should live to look 
upon these latter days !" 

X. 

Kiartan after this rode fearlessly about the 
country, and the sons Of Oswif made no open 
attempt to take revenge for his foray into their 
domain. 

But one day, as three of the brothers sat to- 
gether in Bathstead, Ospak came near and said 
that the gabbling crone Thorhalla had just been 
to the hall and spoken of Kiartan, whom she saw 
on the road. She told, too, that Kiartan would 
ride to Knoll in the west, which news she had 
learned from his own lips, for he promised to 
bring her back half a mark which one owed her 
who lived on his way thither. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 225 

" Oh, enough of this gabbling idiot, God strike 
her blind !" said Thorolf. 

"Eather, God keep her eyes, say I," replied 
Ospak, " for she told me that he would stay 
three days at Knoll, and then ride through 
Swinedale home, close by us, and with but few 
at his back, — two at most. Good luck to his 
pride ! What a chance for us then ! Bodli shall 
lead or die !" 

It fell out as the old woman had said, for 
Kiartan rode from Knoll with goodman Thorkel 
and twelve others, who brought him well on his 
way. But where the pass grew wider and opened 
out into Swinedale, Kiartan stopped his com- 
pany and said to Thorkel, — 

" Thanks to you, goodman, for the guidance ; 
but now get back. I fear nothing between this 
and Herdholt." 

" Well, but there is time enough yet for you 
to be waylaid before you are safe at home," 
said the old man. " Let us ride on." 

But Kiartan was firm, and bade him and his 
men farewell, saying that Bodli was still his 
friend and restrained the brothers, and, besides, 
he did not ride quite alone, for An the Black and 
another, named Thorarin, were with him. 

Now, early that morning Oswif's sons had 
taken their stand along a stream, deep in a 
hollow where the narrow pass turned to the 



226 Tales from Ten Poets. 

south ; and there they waited for Kiartan to 
come by the road. Before he approached, Bodli 
lay high up on the bank, so that his helm just 
showed above the dip of the highway, and Ospak 
went over and accused him roughly of trying 
to warn his kinsman of the danger. 

" Come down," he cried ; " we have got you 
and the cursed Mire-blade in a trap, and we do 
not mean that you shall escape us." 

"If you knew anything of love or honor," 
said Bodli, " I might tell you why I am here. 
If I wanted to save Kiartan, I should do it an- 
other way. How if I stood beside him?" 

"Down with you!" muttered Ospak. "Hold 
your peace, or he will hear us !" 

As Ospak said this they heard the clinking bits 
of Kiartan' s horses, and he came merrily on, 
singing an old ballad in praise of Odin. Then 
suddenly the Bathstead horn rang out, and Kiar- 
tan drew rein and looked about him. 

Instantly the ambushed brothers sprang forth 
and made toward him. Kiartan and his men 
leapt down, and he led them toward a rock be- 
side the road, where they stood at bay. 

Kiartan looked most noble, as he paused there 
in shining mail, with his drawn sword ready for 
the fray ; but when his eye fell upon Bodli a 
change came, and at first he dropped his hands 
Uke one who thinks all is over and gives up. 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 227 

But in an instant his brow cleared, and he 
hurled his spear at Thorolf, who fell clattering 
to the ground. " Down goes the thief!" he cried. 
" Brave men have met more than these and 
come fairly off." 

There was silence then, save for the noise of 
the mail rings; but now the brothers rushed 
across the dusty road, there came a confused 
gleam of swords, and, through the tumult, now 
and then a sharp cry or groan as the points 
went home. Yet Bodli stood pale as death be- 
side them with sheathed sword, and raised no 
hand in the fight. 

Presently there was a lull, and the Bathstead 
men drew off, but the three still held out unhurt, 
with backs against the rock. 

Then Ospak railed at Bodli, and threatened 
him with shame and hardship if he took home 
a bloodless sword. But Bodli made no answer. 
He stood like a man of iron, while the breeze 
blew his long black hair around his cheek-pieces 
and fanned his scarlet kirtle. 

Then one cried out that they lost time, and they 
fell to again ; but now their strokes were directed 
most against Thorarin and An. The first of 
these broke presently from the crowd and ran 
swiftly away, followed by two stout men from 
the Bathstead band; but An the Black fell 
wounded to death, and over him instantly fell 



228 Tales from Ten Poets. 

Gudlaug, Oswif s nephew, with a limb shorn off 
by Kiartan. 

Now once again there was a short lull, and 
then the four fell furiously upon Kiartan, but 
soon gave back ; and the noble son of Olaf, with 
his mail-coat rent and his shield hanging low 
down, panted for breath, but stood without a 
wound. 

Still Bodli was passive ; and Ospak, enraged 
at his inaction, struck him in the face with his 
blood-smeared hand. 

" Get home, you half-hearted traitor, and take 
my blood to Gudrun !" he cried. 

Not a word came from Bodli's lips, and his 
sword rested in its scabbard. Ospak railed on : 

"Are you grown too full of dread, O fond 
lover, to look him in the face whom you did not 
fear to cozen of his bride ? Why draw back, 
when you may now gain all with one stroke ?" 

Then Kiartan, too, called out Bodli's name 
clear and loud, and at the first sound Bodli turned 
his face about in a puzzled way, until he caught 
Kiartan's eyes ; then his mouth quivered and he 
hid his face in his mail-clad hands. 

" They are right, kinsman, friend of the old 
days, friend well forgiven now," said Kiartan. 
" Come nearer, that you may know my face ; 
then draw your sword, and thrust from off the 
earth the fool who has destroyed your happi- 



The Lovers of Gudnin. 229 

ness. My life is spoilt. I do not care longer to 
bide and vex you, friend. Strike, then, for a 
happy life !" 

Bodli's hands dropped down, and his face was 
full of doubt and shame. Yet he had grasped 
his sword even before Kiartan spoke the last 
word, and, still trembling, he now drew it forth, 
while even the sons of Oswif shuddered at his 
wild eyes as he slowly strode toward Kiartan. 

The wind moaned on the hill-side, and a far- 
oif hound barked by some homestead door ; but 
the dull sound of Bodli's feet and the tinkle of 
his mail rings drowned all the other noises as 
the space between them lessened. 

Like one who looks vainly for help, Kiartan 
glanced around, then raised his shield and poised 
his sword, as though he meant to fight to the 
end. But there came a quivering smile upon 
his lips as he gazed into Bodli's dreadful face, 
and there was a flash of swords that never met. 

"Ah, better to die than live on so!" cried 
Kiartan, and his weapons fell clattering to the 
road ; but almost before they had touched the 
bloody ground, Bodli's sword was thrust into 
his kinsman's unprotected side. Kiartan fell 
down, then, and Bodli flung himself upon the 
earth and bent over him and raised his head 
upon his knee. 

" What have I done ? what have I done ?" he 

20 



230 Tales from Ten Poets. 

cried. " I meant to die. 'Twas I who should 
have died, not he. Where was the noble sword 
I thought to take here iu my breast and die for 
Gudrun's sake and yours ? Oh, friend, do you 
not know me ? Speak but a word !" 

But Kiartan made no answer. 

"And will you not forgive ?" moaned Bodli. 
"Think, brother, of the days I must still en- 
dure!" 

Kiartan opened his eyes and tried to get upon 
his feet, but he failed, and only gazed hard in 
Bodli' s face. 

" Farewell life, farewell Gudrun !" he mur- 
mured, then fell back on Bodli's breast and 
strove to take his hand, and was dead. 

There was a long silence. Presently the 
slayer arose and took up his sword. He spoke 
now as one having the right to command the 
rest : 

" Here is a mighty one laid to earth, and yet 
it is no famous deed to have done it. His great 
heart overcame him, not my sword. Go, all of 
you, to Bathstead, and name me everywhere the 
slayer of Kiartan. Send hither men to bear the 
body to our hall, then let each man of you hide 
his head, for you will find it hard to escape 
death. I will stay here, but I shall not be 
utterly alone." 



The Lovers of Gudnin. 231 



XI. 

When the bearers of Kiartan's bier reached 
Bathstead, near sunset of that fatal day, a black 
figure stood in the porch to receive them. The 
stern face looked cold and gray under its over- 
hanging hood, but about the feet, as if in token 
that the end of the journey was near, lay the 
long rays of the dying sunlight. 

Every heart in the melancholy throng about 
Kiartan's body trembled at the thought of meet- 
ing Gudrun. She had raved wildly all the long 
day, and now, when he was borne into the hall 
where he and she had spent so many happy hours, 
her grief must overwhelm her and be pitiful to 
look upon. Could she survive? Could she en- 
dure the long grief? These questions were on 
all lips as the bearers drew near the threshold. 

But Gudrun had gained a stern command of 
herself. She made no outcry, only came near, and 
in a low voice said, half to them and half to 
him on the bier, — 

" Enter and rest. There is too much change 
and stir. Rest is good. No one is within but 
Oswif, and he will not speak. As for me, I am 
grown tired, and cannot vex you much." 

She stepped aside then, and the dark shadows 
of the porch hid her black dress from view, but 



232 Tales from Ten Poets. 

the silent throng passed into the dim-lighted 
hall, afraid to look upon her face. 

Bodli went last of all, clashing through the 
stone porch ; but he paused before he had quite 
passed over the threshold, and, turning slowly 
around, tried to see her face in the darkness. 

" Your will is done," he said. " Are you enough 
alone, as I am ?" 

She made no answer. 

" I did it for your sake, Gudrun. Speak one 
word to me before I am crushed to death by my 
shame." 

Then she reached out her hand toward the 
place where he stood, but did not touch him, 
and he never knew whether she meant to ex- 
press her pity or to thrust him farther from her. 

Soon the bearers and their followers came tram- 
pling slowly out, and Bodli shrank back against 
the wall to let them pass. When the last one 
was gone he looked again for her, but he stood 
quite alone in the dim twilight. He listened 
yearningly to the noises within, but he did not 
dare to follow her. 

He lingered there, hoping for some favorable 
sound, till the moon began to shine under the 
porch eaves ; but he heard little, save the faint 
clink of his own mail as he stirred restlessly 
about the stone pavement. 

" Can she have died with grief?" he wildly 



The Lovers of Gudrun. 233 

thought. " Oh that she might still say one little 
word to me who love her so !" 

But he peered in vain through the dark 
reaches of the hall. There was not a sound, 
not a movement. At last he turned lingeringly 
away, and his steel war-gear began to sparkle in 
the open moonlight. 

Then there came a loud wail out of the dead 
hush of the hall, and the house-carles hurried 
through the gloom with flaring torches. 

They came out into the porch, seeking for 
the cause of the cry; but Bodli knew in his 
heart that it was Gudrun's cry of despair, and, 
smitten with a dreadful terror, he fled away 
into the night. 

Bodli came back to Bathstead before the Herd- 
holt folk removed their fallen kinsman to a 
grave in his own stead , but he was little loved 
by any soul of either household, and at last he 
met death in manly warfare, fighting against 
his many foes. 

Now, after Bodli was slain, and after Oswif 
had passed away in peace, the dale grew too 
fearful and full of sad memories for Gudrun 
longer to remain there, and she exchanged Bath- 
stead for Snorri's hall at Holy fell. There she 
dwelt with Bodli's grown sons about her, and 
took to her side one day, in fulfilment of Guest's 
prophecy, another husband ; but he, too, went 

20* 



234 Tales from Ten Poets. 

to the grave before her, aud she who had grown 
blind as she grew in years was again alone for 
all the long days to come. 

But once on a summer evening as Gudrun 
sat in Holy fell, with another Bodli there beside 
her, a travelled and mighty man in gay rai- 
ment, he, perhaps growing weary of that tran- 
quil life, stirred and sighed heavily. 

" Mother," he said, " awhile ago it came into 
my mind to ask you something. You have loved 
me well, and this is no great thing to reveal to 
one who loves you." 

She smiled, with her sightless eyes turned on 
him, but did not answer. Then he went on : 

" Which of the men you knew, — who are dead 
long ago, mother, — which did you love the best?" 

Her thin hands pressed one on the other, and 
her face quivered, as if some memory struggled 
within her. 

" Ah, son ! the years go by. When we are 
young, we call this or that one the worst we can 
ever know. But yet, as time passes, there comes 
a day when the old sorrows are fair and sweet 
to what we must then endure. ' Evil is bettered 
by the evil that follows it,' says the saw." 

They were both silent a little space, then she 
spoke once more : 

" Easy enough to tell about them, son, for my 



Lovers of Gudrun. 235 

memory is unbroken. Thorkel was a great 
chief, bounteous and wise. Bodli, your sire, was 
mighty ; you would have loved him well. Thord, 
my husband, was a great man, eminent at the 
council-board ; and Thorwald, — he was a rash, 
weak heart, like a stinging weed that must be 
pulled up. Ah, that was long, long ago." 

Bodli smiled. 

" You do not speak your true thought, mother. 
I know these things well." 

" Alas, son," she said, " you ask of love. Folly 
lasts long ; still that word moves my old, worn 
heart." 

She turned till her sightless eyes gazed as 
though the wall and the hills had melted away, 
showing her Herdholt in the soft twilight. Then 
she passionately stretched out her hands as if to 
embrace all she had lost. 

" Oh, son," she wailed " I did the worst to him 
I loved the most !" 



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